The weight of his bow comforts him in a way others never could. It gives him purpose.
He stands in the middle of a field surrounded by bales of hay that serve no purpose other than to contrast against the vibrant green of the grass underfoot. Across from him, targets stand thirty yards away. The wind whips at his cheeks.
Slowly, he raises his bow and empties his mind — or at least attempts to.
The arrow never materializes and the shock of his failure disrupts his focus even further. His lips pull back into a scowl.
“Aaaaugh! What the hell is wrong with me?”
Maybe it’s the openness of the field, without walls in any conceivable direction. The lack of chaos leaves him without an anchoring point. Everything is so bland and his mind inevitably wanders out of boredom.
No, that makes no sense.
He lifts his arms once more and narrows his gaze. This time, an arrow glistens to life, mystical energy coalescing. Upon release, it soars right over the target.
“Dammit!”
@ryuuyumi
