“Really?” Crow raised a brow when Penelope said her first arrow had gone into the ground. “I wish I could have seen that.” Despite his teasing, the story she told did make him feel better about his first try with the bow. He hoped it was a good sign that he had been able to shoot the bow already, even landing the shot on a tree, though it had been the wrong one. Maybe, if he put enough practice into it, he would be able to take down some guards at the palace with it. The thought made his heart beat slightly quicker. It was exciting to think that he would have his own weapon for the first time in his life—a weapon that he could actually use to fight instead of simply to frighten an enemy. It made him feel powerful.

He listened to Penelope’s critiques of his posture and nodded, “I’ll give it a few more tries.” He drew another arrow from the quiver and loaded it into the bow. Taking her advice, he focused on keeping his left index finger steady as he cocked the string back and tilted his head slightly so his chin was closer to his shoulder.

Almost as soon as he had drawn the bowstring back to his mouth, he let go, sending the arrow flying. It sailed to the left of the tree this time, as he had overcorrected from his last shot.

He clicked his tongue and drew one more arrow, ready to repeat the process once again. However, as he drew the string back this time, the muscles in his arm burned in protest. He ignored the pain and tried to force the bowstring to its full extension, but didn’t quite make it. As he loosed the arrow, it fell quickly and struck the base of the tree trunk, not even close to the ‘X’.

“Damn,” Crow cursed, shaking out his sore arm. “This thing is heavy.” He winced at a sharp pain in his hand and looked down to see a thin line of red soaking through the bandages. The exertion of pulling back the string had been too much for his injured palm. Feeling slightly sick at the sight, he turned to Penelope instead, “I think I reopened my cut.”