15min fic #83
Dec. 13th, 2004 01:54 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yrae
Title~ Bowstring
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ See this fic? And the charries? Mine~
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 83. 'may's first archery lesson, aww~
~ ~ ~
Nimay frowned at the bow in her hands, yanking it as hard as she could to try and draw the overly taut string. It took all her strength to pull it back barely half as far as it needed to go to fit an arrow into it.
“You’re holding the string wrong,” Nolryn told her. Unlike all the other boys in the group of training warriors, the young prince had already been taught the basics of archery, and was in a position to help the others rather than learn it all for a second time. “Put the string in the top joint of your fingers.”
Nimay cast him a withering look. There was no way she’d be able to draw that bow, correct grip or no.
She rested the bow against the wall and selected the one at the far end of the line. Naraan, the archery master, had told them the slackest strings were up this end. Naturally, the other boys all wanted to try the toughest bow first, which happened to belong to the master, before moving gradually down the line and settling for something with a little more give in it.
Nimay gripped at the string and just barely strained it back to her ear. She highly doubted she’d have much luck with it if she put an arrow in it. It could have been made of iron for all she knew. The bows were made for seventeen-year-old boys, not nine-year-old girls. Still, there was nothing else she could use. She’d have to make do with this one until she was old enough to handle something stronger.
She let the string snap back, cringing and dropping the bow as the length of twine grazed her tender fingertips and along the inside of her arm. While sword and dagger hilts had callused her palms so they were almost as tough as the soles of her feet, the tips of her fingers were still tender, and the skin on her arms still soft. It hurt.
She gripped at her arm with throbbing fingers, grimacing as she heard a few other yelps of pain that told her she wasn’t the only one to fall into the trap.
‘I don’t like archery,’ she fumed to herself, kicking the bow to emphasise her unspoken words. The string caught between her toes and the sole of her sandal, only adding to her frustration.
“Well,” Nolryn noted calmly, “It’s good to see you’re not a natural with every weapon you put in your hands.”
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ See this fic? And the charries? Mine~
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 83. 'may's first archery lesson, aww~
Nimay frowned at the bow in her hands, yanking it as hard as she could to try and draw the overly taut string. It took all her strength to pull it back barely half as far as it needed to go to fit an arrow into it.
“You’re holding the string wrong,” Nolryn told her. Unlike all the other boys in the group of training warriors, the young prince had already been taught the basics of archery, and was in a position to help the others rather than learn it all for a second time. “Put the string in the top joint of your fingers.”
Nimay cast him a withering look. There was no way she’d be able to draw that bow, correct grip or no.
She rested the bow against the wall and selected the one at the far end of the line. Naraan, the archery master, had told them the slackest strings were up this end. Naturally, the other boys all wanted to try the toughest bow first, which happened to belong to the master, before moving gradually down the line and settling for something with a little more give in it.
Nimay gripped at the string and just barely strained it back to her ear. She highly doubted she’d have much luck with it if she put an arrow in it. It could have been made of iron for all she knew. The bows were made for seventeen-year-old boys, not nine-year-old girls. Still, there was nothing else she could use. She’d have to make do with this one until she was old enough to handle something stronger.
She let the string snap back, cringing and dropping the bow as the length of twine grazed her tender fingertips and along the inside of her arm. While sword and dagger hilts had callused her palms so they were almost as tough as the soles of her feet, the tips of her fingers were still tender, and the skin on her arms still soft. It hurt.
She gripped at her arm with throbbing fingers, grimacing as she heard a few other yelps of pain that told her she wasn’t the only one to fall into the trap.
‘I don’t like archery,’ she fumed to herself, kicking the bow to emphasise her unspoken words. The string caught between her toes and the sole of her sandal, only adding to her frustration.
“Well,” Nolryn noted calmly, “It’s good to see you’re not a natural with every weapon you put in your hands.”