If Oliver knew anything, it was that training, at least, would help him feel better. He didn’t have his actual bow ready yet, but he had managed to craft something quick out of some lumber he had bought at the hardware store downtown—it was kind of crude, but it reminded him of his roots as an archer. On the island, he didn’t have anything but raw materials. He had to make do with what he had. He tested the weight of it in one hand before he notched one of 3 arrows he had made, aiming at a tree almost too far in the distance for him to see properly. He let it fly—the arrow sank with surprising accuracy into the edge of the tree trunk, but it wasn’t good enough for Ollie, who had been aiming for the middle. He scoffed at himself, shaking his head and looking down at his slightly trembling hands. He had to get his crippling paranoia under control.
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