- NATE -
Why you don't got any questions?
How you know that this is real?
How you know that this is real?
Despite the disappointment, the sting of failure, Nate can't let a frown cling to him, not in the face of the enthusiasm and encouragement that pours from his niece. He wonders, briefly, where that strength, that kindness came from, knowing the little he did of her past, and decides pretty quick that it doesn't matter near as much as being in this moment with her does. Shoulders slump, relaxing a touch, and he offers his own crooked smile back towards her. "It's been a while since I've had to practice something." Perhaps not the best admission to make, but at least it's honest. And it doesn't mean he isn't going to try again, that his spirit's broken by a single failure. Gods, he might have had a rough few weeks, but not that rough.
Nate doubles down on his efforts, watching and following along, sure that he was following the same steps, was bending himself in just the right ways to shoot as perfectly as Melita did, and yet. He relaxes as her arrow is loosed once again, as it buries into the target once again, all but effortlessly.
Second time around, feels very much like the first, Nate holding his arm out, bow clutched tightly in his hand, staring down the target. "Stance," a few minor adjustments, feet and arms shifting where they're slightly out of place, "breathe," a deep pull in through his nose, "pull," the right arm draws the arrow back, a final adjustment made before it's released, rushing through the air and only barely clipping the edge of the target, still too far right, and too low now as well.
Another displeased huff, but Nate seems happier with the second shot. Seems almost smug, when he turns back to Melita, his own brow arching as he waits for her (completely inevitable) critique.
Nate doubles down on his efforts, watching and following along, sure that he was following the same steps, was bending himself in just the right ways to shoot as perfectly as Melita did, and yet. He relaxes as her arrow is loosed once again, as it buries into the target once again, all but effortlessly.
Second time around, feels very much like the first, Nate holding his arm out, bow clutched tightly in his hand, staring down the target. "Stance," a few minor adjustments, feet and arms shifting where they're slightly out of place, "breathe," a deep pull in through his nose, "pull," the right arm draws the arrow back, a final adjustment made before it's released, rushing through the air and only barely clipping the edge of the target, still too far right, and too low now as well.
Another displeased huff, but Nate seems happier with the second shot. Seems almost smug, when he turns back to Melita, his own brow arching as he waits for her (completely inevitable) critique.
I am feeling such oppression
You can't tell me how to feel
You can't tell me how to feel
