The crowd murmurs as Anakin takes a casual stance, far from the proper form required for the game. He holds all three arrows loosely in one hand, as if he didn't care about the game.
Yetsune steps closer, her brows knitting together. "What are you doing?" she hisses, tugging at his sleeve.
Anakin doesn't respond. His gaze is fixed on the target, calm. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, the first arrow takes flight, followed swiftly by the second and third.
The crowd collectively gasps as the first arrow pierces dead center of the clay pot. Before their astonishment can subside, the second arrow splits the first, and the third lands cleanly alongside, splitting them both.
The crowd falls silent, stunned. No one speaks, not even to breathe. Yetsune's wide eyes shift from the arrows in the pot to Anakin. Her lips part slightly as she struggles to find her voice. "How… how did you do that?" she finally breathes.
