Adjusting his breathing and his mood, Desmond took a special arrow from his secondary quiver and placed it on the bowstring delicately, then assumed a low firing stance and gently forced the air into his lungs through his slow taut lips. but firmly the bowstring.
At this moment Desmond was like the surface of a calm lake, no doubt or impatience to be observed in both his posture and his expression, but as deep as his concentration became, he could still feel the caress of the wind on his cheeks and enjoy the feeling that strangely helped him stay calm.
