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As Emilia watched, he took aim at his target, fluidly morphing from a teenaged slump into rigid, practiced form.
Then he deliberately swung two inches to the right and shot an arrow into the trees.
“What was that?” the man in the sun cloak demanded, storming back and forth along the hillside, waving his arms and yelling about motivation and control.
Emilia paid no attention to the teacher. Her focus was on Dyrk. Why had he purposefully missed the target?
But he merely scanned the trees with narrowed eyes, a rebel without a cause, so far as Emilia could tell.
“You should be able to hit that target by now,” the teacher finished.
“Maybe you’re just not a very good teacher,” Dyrk said coolly.
“Hello,” Emilia called out, not wanting the situation to escalate.
The little girl swung around in surprise, her bow still in her arms.
An arrow loosed from her grasp and whistled through the air, directly at Emilia.
Everything seemed to slip into slow motion as Emilia’s feet refused to move.
She watched in horror as the arrow struck her in the chest.
The impact knocked her flat on her back, staring up into the darkening sky. A bruising pain settled in her sternum.
The first stars of the night were radiant in the hazy sky. She supposed there were worse places to die.
This was definitely not how she pictured her day going, and she was pretty sure there wasn’t a tenet that covered this particular situation.
She closed her eyes, hoping the instructor would have the good sense to keep the kids away from her as she bled out. But she could already hear the footsteps rushing toward her. Why would a four-year old be learning to shoot in the first place?
Somehow the pain was fading as she heard them approach.
“You’re okay,” the instructor said matter-of-factly. “Just give her some space, kids. That’s going to leave a bruise.”
“I’m sorry,” a little voice said. “I’m so sorry.”
“This is why we only point our bow in a safe direction,” the teacher said sternly. “It’s only a safety arrow, miss. You can probably try to sit up now.”
A safety arrow?
Emilia opened her eyes to see a sweet little face with flame-colored ears peering at her worriedly. Behind Mimi, her brother, Dyrk looked around, pretending to be bored.
Emilia pulled herself up to a seated position, feeling better by the moment.
“You fell down,” Mimi said softly, her tail curling around one chubby leg.
“I thought you shot me with a real arrow,” Emilia confided.
“Why would a four-year-old shoot with real arrows?” Dyrk scoffed.
“Why would a twelve-year-old not have real arrows yet?” the instructor retorted sarcastically.
That kind of vitriol was uncalled for.
Dyrk’s face fell, and he stalked off toward the house.
Emilia fought the urge to jump up and yell at the instructor.
