Hollis
I storm out of the copse of trees, clenching and unclenching my hands. I have to hit something. There has to be something in this Goddess-forsaken place for me to hit. I march back to the mock-training ground Zain and I slapped together, still empty, but we’ve only finished the f*****g archery part.
It’s better than nothing. I shoulder one of the heavy bows, nock an arrow, and let it fly. Bullseye.
Inhale, aim, fire, exhale. The next arrow lands directly next to it.
Tension knots my muscles, overtightens my grip. The third quivers in the ring just outside the bullseye, its bright-red fletching taunting me. I throw the bow down in the grass and storm down the shooting range. All f*****g clear. And I have to get that last arrow out before anybody else sees it. I haven’t missed the
