47th of Summer, 511 AV
The string of the bow sung as it slipped from gloved fingers, a vibrant humming tone that echoed in the empty room. The arrow split the air in front of it as it ran through empty space, metal and wood and feather united into a deadly missile that eagerly hurried towards the goal. A muffled 'thump' resounded through the room as the arrow hit the target, about a hand to the left from a large red dot painted in the middle of the canvas that stretched over the cork board. It bounced between stone walls, back and forth for several drops until finally it died out and left only silence in it's wake. At least for a while.
Rista breathed in slowly and looked at the arrow, her face impassive as she noted the distance to the center, and to the first arrow that was buried about two inches to the left of the current. Better, but still not good enough. Her fingers reached down towards the quiver that hung from the belt, balancing on her hip as she practiced her aim. It was harder to shoot with gloves on her hands, even if they were as thin as the ones she was wearing now. She thought it might be a good thing to practice though; she couldn't always count on being able to stop and clear her hands before pulling the string.
Her fingers searched for, and found, the ridge of a third arrow. Grasping it lightly, the girl pulled it up from the quiver and gave the feathers a brief glance before she placed it on the string; strictly it wasn't necessary, all arrows in the halls were in good shape and were repaired frequently, but it was a habit she had been taught from the first time she was tall enough to hold a bow. Maintain the bow-string, never dry-fire and make sure to check the feathers on the arrow. There were several other rules, but some was more habitual than others.
Jet black eyes narrowed briefly as the girl focused on the target again. The hand that held the bow shifted slightly and she breathed in, lifted the short-bow up and pulled the string back in one smooth motion. Breathing out slowly, she moved the bow-hand ever so slightly until the arrows head matched the target, she felt the feathers on the shaft tickle against her skin... The bowstring slipped from her fingers and sung as the arrow flew, and the dark-eyed girl remained frozen in her posture until the arrow sat trembling just on the line of the bullseye.
Only the smallest of smiles reached her lips as the girl once again reached for an arrow. It was enjoyable to see that she improved for every time she practiced, but it was still not enough for her. Almost was never good enough, almost wouldn't feed anyone. Almost would never impress a hunter enough to allow her to become an apprentice, which was part of the reason why she once again pulled the string and fired off a shot. If she couldn't become an Endal, she still had to make a living of some sort, and the closest she came to having a skill at anything was hunting. It didn't really suit her; while she enjoyed being outdoors and move around, she disliked harming animals. When she moved with her traps around the Twin lakes, it was almost always to catch live birds to sell to falconers at Market Day; rarely she would trap rodents to feed to said birds, even though she preferred seeing the animals hunt for themselves. Rather than becoming Dek though, she would aim for something that was even remotely achievable.
Aside from herself there was no one at the Range yet. It was still very yearly; the sun had yet to rise, and she doubted that even the cooks were up yet. Awakened by a bad dream, the girl had been unable - and unwilling - to sleep, thus taking refuge in the cool and quiet halls. Strictly speaking she shouldn't be here. While the Plucked Arrow was a range for yasi like herself, they were supposed to have teachers present while practicing, and the range weren't actually open until after breakfast at the eighth chime. But by then it would be crowded here, and the peace and tranquility she sought after wouldn't be found anywhere. And besides, Rista thought herself to be grown enough to know the rules and skilled enough not to hurt herself. She was alone there anyway, so who would find out?
A few arrows later her quiver had been emptied. After mumbling the rules of safety to herself - another habit that had been pounded into her - she stepped forward to collect the arrows. Her thoughts trailed slowly between topics as she did while she at the same time checked to see if any of the missiles had been damaged. It was almost meditative to be here. Only her own heartbeats mixed with the sound of the bow could be heard, somewhere in the distance the crystalline sound of water against rock could be perceived; more felt than heard, and it made Rista feel thirsty. She filled up the quiver once again and then removed it from her belt. The short girl moved through the hall with movements that revealed how comfortable she was there, as if she was walking in her own room, and then placed the quiver on a low table at the back of the hall.
Removing the string from the bow, she put it down carefully and then moved towards the bridge that crossed the underground lake where the younger yasi used to play. It was beautiful as always, and the dark-eyed girl stopped for a moment and hunched down just at the edge. Pulling off a glove from her right hand, she leaned down to touch the blank surface with her fingertips. So quiet. It was never this quiet during the day, but right now she was thankful for it. Peace wasn't normally a state of mind she could hold on to for very long, and the young girl was going to enjoy it for as long as she could. It would get busy soon enough...
The string of the bow sung as it slipped from gloved fingers, a vibrant humming tone that echoed in the empty room. The arrow split the air in front of it as it ran through empty space, metal and wood and feather united into a deadly missile that eagerly hurried towards the goal. A muffled 'thump' resounded through the room as the arrow hit the target, about a hand to the left from a large red dot painted in the middle of the canvas that stretched over the cork board. It bounced between stone walls, back and forth for several drops until finally it died out and left only silence in it's wake. At least for a while.
Rista breathed in slowly and looked at the arrow, her face impassive as she noted the distance to the center, and to the first arrow that was buried about two inches to the left of the current. Better, but still not good enough. Her fingers reached down towards the quiver that hung from the belt, balancing on her hip as she practiced her aim. It was harder to shoot with gloves on her hands, even if they were as thin as the ones she was wearing now. She thought it might be a good thing to practice though; she couldn't always count on being able to stop and clear her hands before pulling the string.
Her fingers searched for, and found, the ridge of a third arrow. Grasping it lightly, the girl pulled it up from the quiver and gave the feathers a brief glance before she placed it on the string; strictly it wasn't necessary, all arrows in the halls were in good shape and were repaired frequently, but it was a habit she had been taught from the first time she was tall enough to hold a bow. Maintain the bow-string, never dry-fire and make sure to check the feathers on the arrow. There were several other rules, but some was more habitual than others.
Jet black eyes narrowed briefly as the girl focused on the target again. The hand that held the bow shifted slightly and she breathed in, lifted the short-bow up and pulled the string back in one smooth motion. Breathing out slowly, she moved the bow-hand ever so slightly until the arrows head matched the target, she felt the feathers on the shaft tickle against her skin... The bowstring slipped from her fingers and sung as the arrow flew, and the dark-eyed girl remained frozen in her posture until the arrow sat trembling just on the line of the bullseye.
Only the smallest of smiles reached her lips as the girl once again reached for an arrow. It was enjoyable to see that she improved for every time she practiced, but it was still not enough for her. Almost was never good enough, almost wouldn't feed anyone. Almost would never impress a hunter enough to allow her to become an apprentice, which was part of the reason why she once again pulled the string and fired off a shot. If she couldn't become an Endal, she still had to make a living of some sort, and the closest she came to having a skill at anything was hunting. It didn't really suit her; while she enjoyed being outdoors and move around, she disliked harming animals. When she moved with her traps around the Twin lakes, it was almost always to catch live birds to sell to falconers at Market Day; rarely she would trap rodents to feed to said birds, even though she preferred seeing the animals hunt for themselves. Rather than becoming Dek though, she would aim for something that was even remotely achievable.
Aside from herself there was no one at the Range yet. It was still very yearly; the sun had yet to rise, and she doubted that even the cooks were up yet. Awakened by a bad dream, the girl had been unable - and unwilling - to sleep, thus taking refuge in the cool and quiet halls. Strictly speaking she shouldn't be here. While the Plucked Arrow was a range for yasi like herself, they were supposed to have teachers present while practicing, and the range weren't actually open until after breakfast at the eighth chime. But by then it would be crowded here, and the peace and tranquility she sought after wouldn't be found anywhere. And besides, Rista thought herself to be grown enough to know the rules and skilled enough not to hurt herself. She was alone there anyway, so who would find out?
A few arrows later her quiver had been emptied. After mumbling the rules of safety to herself - another habit that had been pounded into her - she stepped forward to collect the arrows. Her thoughts trailed slowly between topics as she did while she at the same time checked to see if any of the missiles had been damaged. It was almost meditative to be here. Only her own heartbeats mixed with the sound of the bow could be heard, somewhere in the distance the crystalline sound of water against rock could be perceived; more felt than heard, and it made Rista feel thirsty. She filled up the quiver once again and then removed it from her belt. The short girl moved through the hall with movements that revealed how comfortable she was there, as if she was walking in her own room, and then placed the quiver on a low table at the back of the hall.
Removing the string from the bow, she put it down carefully and then moved towards the bridge that crossed the underground lake where the younger yasi used to play. It was beautiful as always, and the dark-eyed girl stopped for a moment and hunched down just at the edge. Pulling off a glove from her right hand, she leaned down to touch the blank surface with her fingertips. So quiet. It was never this quiet during the day, but right now she was thankful for it. Peace wasn't normally a state of mind she could hold on to for very long, and the young girl was going to enjoy it for as long as she could. It would get busy soon enough...
