There was a swiftness, and fluidity to that that he could recognize. It was awkward with the bow in his face, trying to line it up where it should be. He notched the arrow in the string, and made sure that it aligned with the target, as best he could, though it was hard to tell. He wondered if he just lacked the eyes for the thing – perception had ever been his greatest weakness.
He did not allow those doubts to distract him for long. Satisfied that he had lined it up as well as he could, he drew the string back, not quickly, but steadily. He did it with as much grace as he could muster, so that he did not change the aim of his prepositioned arrow. This time he took care to pull his cheek away from the string, and then he shot.
