78 of Winter, 514 AV
Lorden took a labored breath, as his chest tightened anxiously around the beating organ held within it. With uncertainty in his azure eyes, the knight starred on at the hay bale target, that held fast to the ground, not thirty feet away from where he stood. With fear-laced eagerness, the novice bowman withdrew one of the long-pointed poles, that hung in the leather quiver latched at his side. Carefully, the knight brought the arrow and his right hand up to his borrowed shortbow, before nocking said wooden projectile with trepidation.
Lorden shuffled his feet. The knight breathed out a dissatisfied breath, as he looked down from his dark brown bow. Slowly and inexpertly, the black-haired trainee gazed at his own legs, as he tried to move the limbs, into what he remembered of the correct shooting stance. His left and right legs lumbered around sluggishly, before distancing themselves a little more than shoulder width apart. Lorden looked down at his separated knees for a moment, getting an urging suspicion as he did so. Slowly, the knight shuffled his feet so that his dominant leg was behind him and out to the right, whereas his left leg was left to support and balance his front.
If you stand too square with a sword, you'll get stabbed, Lorden thought, feeling and observing his new positioning.
With a bow, might be, that I just get shot, shivering at the thought, the knight couldn't help but let his eyes drift, to the pointed barb of his own nocked arrow. The blue-eyed man made a face of disdain, before moving his arm to grip the back of his bow. Lorden allowed his thin features to sink back to their natural state, and with shuffling and uncoordinated fingers, the knight moved his hand to grip his shortbow's twined, tan, bowstring.
The knight attempted to pull the bow back, only to have his fingers cry out for reprieve, as he reached but a half-draw. With gritted teeth, Lorden relaxed his arm, and allowed the arrow to settle back forward slowly. Inquisitively, and somewhat embarrassed, the raven-haired youth glanced around to make sure no one was looking, before redirecting his eyes to where his fingers gripped the bow. With a methodical mindset, the blue-eyed knight, noted how his fingers, gripped the bowstring, at the phalanges respective bends.
Holding in a tarried breath, the knight gave the bowstring another tug. Pulling back, to about half of a half-draw, Lorden felt with discomfort, how the blood began to pound at his grasping phalanges; and how the pull of the string started easily enough, before becoming near impossible rather quickly, and quite strenuous on the wrist as well.
With squinted eyes, Lorden once more allowed the bowstring to slink into an idle state. The knight moved his dominant hand from the bowstring, pulling the arrow that sat nocked on it away from the bow as well. Lorden returned the arrow to it's quiver hesitantly, and, once it was back in it's leather container, began to lift his hand up, with it's palm turned to his face. Slowly, the knight straightened his legs, and pulled himself from his shooting stance.
Lorden looked on at his whitened right hand, and began to rub his thumb along the slightly raw bends in it's fingers. Curiously, the knight bent the tips of his phalangers in, one after another, to touch the pad of his inquisitive thumb. Feeling their soft padded skin, Lorden starred on at his finger tips, with squinted eyes. Slowly, the knight lowered his dominant hand, and began inching it towards his hanging quiver.
Withdrawing yet another arrow, Lorden brought the wooden shaft up and to the side, before nocking it once more on the waiting bow, that he held in his non-dominant hand's grasp. As the the veins of the arrow began to slid in close to the bowstring, Lorden shuffled his limbs and torso back into their former stance. This time, as his fingers hooked up behind his arrow as it nocked, the knight touched the pads of their tips to the bowstring, rather than wrapping them around it at their bends. The knight took a stilled breath, as the world around him began to slow.
Lorden began to pull back from his elbow, noting how the effort still increased as he applied pressure, but was bearable. Once the arrow was as far back as he could get it, the knight lifted the bow to his face. Just barely able to keep the wooden-shaft nocked, as he drew the bowstring back, the novice-bowman brought the bow up, to point at the circular target that was before him. His heart lept a beat, as his fingers slid away from the rope they grasped.
The sound of something possessed of great speed, slamming against impenetrable stone, rung out across the roof, before echoing into the tangerine-colored, late-afternoon sky.
Lorden shuffled his feet. The knight breathed out a dissatisfied breath, as he looked down from his dark brown bow. Slowly and inexpertly, the black-haired trainee gazed at his own legs, as he tried to move the limbs, into what he remembered of the correct shooting stance. His left and right legs lumbered around sluggishly, before distancing themselves a little more than shoulder width apart. Lorden looked down at his separated knees for a moment, getting an urging suspicion as he did so. Slowly, the knight shuffled his feet so that his dominant leg was behind him and out to the right, whereas his left leg was left to support and balance his front.
If you stand too square with a sword, you'll get stabbed, Lorden thought, feeling and observing his new positioning.
With a bow, might be, that I just get shot, shivering at the thought, the knight couldn't help but let his eyes drift, to the pointed barb of his own nocked arrow. The blue-eyed man made a face of disdain, before moving his arm to grip the back of his bow. Lorden allowed his thin features to sink back to their natural state, and with shuffling and uncoordinated fingers, the knight moved his hand to grip his shortbow's twined, tan, bowstring.
The knight attempted to pull the bow back, only to have his fingers cry out for reprieve, as he reached but a half-draw. With gritted teeth, Lorden relaxed his arm, and allowed the arrow to settle back forward slowly. Inquisitively, and somewhat embarrassed, the raven-haired youth glanced around to make sure no one was looking, before redirecting his eyes to where his fingers gripped the bow. With a methodical mindset, the blue-eyed knight, noted how his fingers, gripped the bowstring, at the phalanges respective bends.
Holding in a tarried breath, the knight gave the bowstring another tug. Pulling back, to about half of a half-draw, Lorden felt with discomfort, how the blood began to pound at his grasping phalanges; and how the pull of the string started easily enough, before becoming near impossible rather quickly, and quite strenuous on the wrist as well.
With squinted eyes, Lorden once more allowed the bowstring to slink into an idle state. The knight moved his dominant hand from the bowstring, pulling the arrow that sat nocked on it away from the bow as well. Lorden returned the arrow to it's quiver hesitantly, and, once it was back in it's leather container, began to lift his hand up, with it's palm turned to his face. Slowly, the knight straightened his legs, and pulled himself from his shooting stance.
Lorden looked on at his whitened right hand, and began to rub his thumb along the slightly raw bends in it's fingers. Curiously, the knight bent the tips of his phalangers in, one after another, to touch the pad of his inquisitive thumb. Feeling their soft padded skin, Lorden starred on at his finger tips, with squinted eyes. Slowly, the knight lowered his dominant hand, and began inching it towards his hanging quiver.
Withdrawing yet another arrow, Lorden brought the wooden shaft up and to the side, before nocking it once more on the waiting bow, that he held in his non-dominant hand's grasp. As the the veins of the arrow began to slid in close to the bowstring, Lorden shuffled his limbs and torso back into their former stance. This time, as his fingers hooked up behind his arrow as it nocked, the knight touched the pads of their tips to the bowstring, rather than wrapping them around it at their bends. The knight took a stilled breath, as the world around him began to slow.
Lorden began to pull back from his elbow, noting how the effort still increased as he applied pressure, but was bearable. Once the arrow was as far back as he could get it, the knight lifted the bow to his face. Just barely able to keep the wooden-shaft nocked, as he drew the bowstring back, the novice-bowman brought the bow up, to point at the circular target that was before him. His heart lept a beat, as his fingers slid away from the rope they grasped.
The sound of something possessed of great speed, slamming against impenetrable stone, rung out across the roof, before echoing into the tangerine-colored, late-afternoon sky.
