Where Fires Dare to Burn

Chapter 06 - Put Your Arrow Where Your Mouth Is

His fingers released their grip.

He felt the elastic twang and the rush of air, the tension relaxing from the string as it propelled the arrow. Luke let the Hawkshot bow tip forward, his eyes fixed on the bullseye a little over fifty yards away. The arrow struck the target with a satisfying thud of impact that echoed across the practice field. He narrowed his eyes.

The shot looked to be a hairsbreadth outside the bullseye. He wrinkled his nose in annoyance. Still good for ten points but not quite what he'd hoped for.

"Good shot, good shot!" Coach Gore declared from the sideline. A whip of a woman with a tight bun of dark brown hair, she was encased in a tracksuit of ELU black and gold, watching the try-outs carefully. "Retrieve!"

Along with five other prospective students, Luke set off on the long walk down the range to reclaim the three arrows of his latest shoot. He tugged them loose, squinting at the target to see exactly where his shots had landed. His last arrow was indeed fractionally outside the bullseye and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

When he returned to the firing line Gabi pouted sympathetically as she stepped forward to take his position.

"Going easy on me?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Maybe next round I'll just shoot you down the range."

"Maybe then you'd actually hit something," she returned, knocking an arrow to her bow. She planted her feet, pivoting side-on to the target as the other prospective members of the archery team lined up on either side. "Remember, I'm expecting flawless notes from you."

"Oh, nothing but the best," he muttered.

"And, shoot!" Coach Gore barked, cutting off any further barbs.

Gabi released, her hand springing back from the bowstring and letting the shaft leap away, soaring down the range. Luke craned his neck to get a better look, and a devious smile crossed his face when he saw the arrow bury itself into the inner section of the red ring, a fingernail away from the coveted yellow centre. A decent shot, but only worth eight points.

"Hope your singing voice is warmed up," he called.

She shot him a baleful glare before locking another arrow into place. Her second shot improved on the first, breaching the outer yellow ring for nine points. He opened his mouth to offer some more unsolicited advice, but she already had her third arrow in place, sighting quickly and smoothly. She took a second and exhaled. Then fired. The third shaft crunched into the target millimetres from the centre of the bullseye.

Luke didn't have anything clever to say about that. He pressed his lips tightly together as Gabi looked back over her shoulder and winked.

"Keep it up, Lukey boy," she said, her voice filled with a malevolent sense of glee. "I'll let my arrows do the talking."

"No doubt, no doubt," he grumbled as she set off towards the target to retrieve her arrows. Luke tried to ignore her impish smirk when she returned, and stepped up to the firing position.

He didn't even particularly care about having to be her designated note-taker for a week. He just knew he could shoot better than he'd shown so far, and he wanted to prove it. He belonged on this team. Shaking out his shoulders and stretching his arms, he readied himself, knocking his first arrow. Coach Gore made the call, and he fired.

A nine to start off. Luke nodded to himself but resisted the urge to turn and gloat, instead sliding his second arrow into place without a word. He cleared his head, focussing only on the glaring yellow centre of the target, and let fly. The second shaft hit almost dead centre, good for ten points. He bit back the jibes that wanted to leap off his tongue and prepared his final arrow. He pulled back, sighting with painstaking care and exhaling long and slow.