This bow did not feel right to Alva. It was a simple bow, clearly not made by any competent craftsman. She missed her own bow from back home, but she had not exactly had the opportunity to take much with her. Soon, one of these days, she would have to make her own. She had scouted out some trees in the surrounding forest. Their wood would do well for the purpose.
Although this bow was not ideal, it was alright - Alva still managed to center most of her shots. She drew back the string once more. Steady breath, steady hand. Aim. Breathe. Release.

The arrow cut through the air, landing a few inches left of center. Arrows were beginning to become clustered. She repeated what to her was almost ritualistic - draw, breathe, aim, breathe, release. With a soft [i]thunk[/i] the arrow planted itself into the target. Although she knew around her there was arguing and dissent, Alva remained focused. She could intervene, but she was too far into this almost meditative state to break out of her concentration.

Draw, breathe, aim, breathe, release.
[i]Thunk.[/i]