A shaft flies wide

by imperialvirtue

The trees are vivid with new leaves, and the scent of blossoms floats on the gentle breeze; the forest floor is carpeted with bluebells. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the earth. Overhead the birds screech and warble. In a stand of trees, two dark heads shrink under the cover of branches as a father makes a silent gesture to his daughter: over there. Ahead of them, upwind, a deer stalks through the undergrowth, graceful and unconcerned. She glances up, shoulder high to him – blue eyes meet, confer. Now? He nods. Slowly, quietly, she raises the bow in her hand; silent as a hope, she nocks an arrow, draws it back to her cheek, sights along it – both eyes open, always both eyes. Breathe out. Find the silence. Find the stillness.

Thunk. The shaft flies wide, and the deer bounds away. Clarice’s shoulders drop, and she blinks back a sudden urge to cry. She know what she has just lost.  “Sorry,” she says quietly. She is twelve.

Kay Fields straightens up, lowers his bow, and watches several crowns of meat bound away through the trees. He sighs a little, and puts a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Perhaps you’ll fare better with a spear, love.”