Page 32 of Quiver

Kylie snorted softly. “Seriously, did you decide this morning’s theme is life lessons couched as archery training?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Fletcher collected three arrows from the target with minimal tugging and brought them back. “Try again. This time rotate the bow a tick more, and inch your aim slightly to the left of the bull’s-eye like you’re leading yourself toward it.”

Kylie’s brow wrinkled slightly, as if she needed to work to picture such an adjustment, but when she pursed her lips together and her eyes sharpened, Fletcher surmised she’d figured something out. Sure enough, the first arrow landed within the center ring.

“Yes!” She gave a triumphant cheer, and turned to Fletcher as if to say, you saw that, right? “I did not throw away my shot.”

“No, but you threw away the next one.”

“What?”

“You were locked in. You found your sight line, your bow level, and your pull weight exactly perfect. Then as soon as it went precisely how you wanted, you threw it all away even though in this sport we always shoot three arrows in a row. You screwed the next two.”

“I didn’t,” she said without sounding fully convinced.

“Go again.”

She took way more time than she’d ever have in a saddle, but Fletcher didn’t have any inclination to rush her. The more she fiddled with the details of her stance, the more it proved the larger point about intuition and muscle memory, because as soon as she shot, it landed out farther than anything even from the last round.

“Shit.” This time Kylie dropped the bow completely.

“It’s okay. Your overall trajectory today has still been on the upswing. You’re just too shortsighted from one arrow to the next. You need to work on establishing a groove rather than letting yourself get too up or down about the minutia of any single attempt. It takes time.”

“We’ve been shooting all day, and I’ve barely gotten any better.”

It wasn’t true. Kylie’s improvement had been steady if slow, but Kylie’s natural impatience would never let her appreciate the incremental when she craved instantaneous.

“You have to find your way again, and then stay there for as long as you can. The staying power, along with the ability to feel when something’s right enough to recreate, that’s the essence of all the other work going forward.”

“Recall and recreate.” Kylie nodded emphatically.

“And recognize,” Fletcher added. “If you shoot randomly, you’ll make some and miss others without learning from either. Humans are creatures of habit. You have to carefully choose which ones you form.”

Kylie sighed. “I worry we’ve wandered back into life lesson territory.”

“I’m talking about archery,” Fletcher said flatly. “If you’re extrapolating something more, save those conversations for your therapist.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I talk to my therapist about you all the time.”

Fletcher clenched her jaw, not sure if Kylie was teasing, but unwilling to ask. “Shoot again. This time pay less attention to trying to aim. Focus on how it feels in your shoulders, your arms, your fingertips.”

Kylie did as instructed. The result was better, still in the second ring, but solid and, more importantly, repeatable.

Fletcher fed her another arrow.

She re-nocked and shot again. This one’s tip hit the target mere inches from the first.

“Good,” she murmured, and supplied her another. “Try to memorize the slots where your muscles lock in, the same way you might memorize an address or lines to a play.”

Kylie held her frame and limbs steady, but she closed her eyes and parted her lips, and an expression of serenity came over her the likes of which Fletcher hadn’t seen in years, not since the last time she’d awakened to that head on her shoulder, auburn locks spilling over her bare chest.

Something twisted inside her, and she turned away from the onslaught of her own memories. It wasn’t the first time she’d suffered pangs of longing over the years, but it had been a long time since she’d experienced them so acutely, and she had only proximity to blame. With Kylie out of sight, she’d always been able to push her out of her mind, but in none of those other moments had she smelled the undercurrent of citrus from her shampoo.

She wasn’t even looking as Kylie released her last shot, but when she registered the thump of it against the target, she glanced up to see it embedded directly between the previous two.

“Yes,” she whispered, a hint of pride mingling with a slew of emotions she hadn’t intended to summon. “Keep doing that.”

“What?” Kylie’s concentration finally broke as she turned to face her.