003 - Writing Prompt - "Tell me about the quirks and/or history of your character's weapon of choice."

Bernard pulled back on the string of the bow, squinted his eyes, and released the arrow. His breath erupted from his mouth in a rush and his shoulders instantly slumped. He knew he had missed the target. The tree was unmoving, a stationary object in a forest of stationary objects. His eight years of training should have been enough to make a connection, but he knew he missed. He knew enough about missing to know that the arrow was going to land in the brush off to the side. Just like it had on the last shot; just like it would on the next shot.

"Again." A course voice commented from behind him. Bernard turned to complain, but the man shook his head. "Again."

"Why?" Bernard let the bow drop down to his side. "Daruk, this is useless. I can't hit a stationary target, how am I ever going to hit something moving?" The left side of his face twitched uncontrollably. "Something living."

"It isn't useless." Daruk was leaning back against a dead tree stump, his dagger carving a tree branch into the shape of a makeshift arrow. "You've been at this for a third of yer life. You'll pass, if you let yourself." He snorted. "You don't have much choice left, boy."

"But this-" Bernard's hands waved around erratically to indicate their surroundings, "-this whole profession isn't for me. I'm never going to be a master hunter." He let out a quiet sigh before tossing the bow to the ground. "I'm useless."

"We go through this everyday." The older man picked up the bow and tossed it back to the younger man. It smacked Bernard in the face, who struggled to catch it as it bounced off. "But not today. Today you shut yer air hole and hit the damn target."

"Why must it be a bow - why hunting? Why can't our village have a master booksmith, or bookmaster, or what not? I like books."

"What ye gonna do with books? Smash a rabbit's face in?" Daruk let out a rough laugh before shaking his head. "Ye failed all the other professions before ye started. Books are useless, so learn ye hunting."

"Books are not useless." Bernard felt his grip tighten on the bow, but he forced himself to take a breath - to be reasonable. "Books tell us how people lived all over the world, how to avoid the disasters of the past. They're filled with the most intelligent bits of man. If we all read more, we might not need hunters."

"Hah!" The older man spit at Bernard. "Can yer books teach ya how to shoot straight?"

Bernard felt his mouth open to comment, but the way his mentor was holding his carving knife made Bernard promptly shut it his air hole tight. Holding back any sign of breathing he picked up the bow and drew another arrow. His fingers and mind repeated through the process of knock, draw, aim. It was methodical, precise, and quickly followed by his mind beginning to wander. He knew he was going to miss. He always missed.

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