His fingers had begun to sting but he hardly noticed them.  The burn of the string didn’t register.  His focus was on his form, on the nock, on the target.  His vision seemed to shrink as he steadied his breathing and prepared to release.  His anchor was good.  His positioning was good.  His grip on the bow was steady but loose.

With a fluttering whine and a thunk, the arrow buried into the paper.  Another bullseye, or near enough.

He smiled.  He was learning quickly and having fun.  The first was a surprise, the later not so much.  He had always enjoyed target practice.  He had always assumed he would enjoy working with a bow and arrows too, he had just never had the opportunity before.  Based on the few experiences he had in his younger days, he had assumed that it would take a long time for him to get good.  Whatever the reason, the calmness of his body inherent in no longer being a child or the humility to receive instruction that comes from experience and wisdom, he picked up the right form very quickly and his groupings continued to shrink.

One more skill that could be useful at some point but that he hoped he would never need.  With society crumbling with each passing day, though, he was actively pursuing all the skills he might need.  Given the number of people at the range learning with him, he was pleased at how many other people seemed ready to stand up and ensure their own future.  Then again, he was only guessing that’s why they were there.  Perhaps they had other reasons.

Again, he hoped he never had to find out what those were.

And, begin:

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