Practice makes perfect, they said. In Jana’s case there was still a long way to go to attain perfection when it came to her archery. All of her arrows were embedded in the outermost ring of the hay bullseye she built out of hay. “Seven hells…” she muttered under her breath, not quite pleased with her slow progress. Then she went on to grab another arrow from the quiver, preparing herself to shoot again. Breathe in. Her icy blue eyes stayed locked on the bullseye. Breathe out. She didn’t let go as the crackling of leaves under feet caught her attention before she could even shoot. Without lowering her bow the blonde turned around to see the person that had approached.












