"That's what would happen," Ruvyn starts, going over to tap his mare's saddlebag, "however I'm a fletcher, I can make decent arrow shafts, I have the casts to make more arrowheads, and I keep pre-mades close by." Ruvyn then reach into the pack to produce three one Sparrowtail arrows from the pack that held about 60 more arrows of its kind.
"As for technique," Ruvyn starts, by releasing an arrow in the same fashion as he had with the first target, "I do slow down to account for accuracy." By the time the second arrow had nearly landed, Ruvyn had already fired another in a clean, fluid motion. Then, he fired the last one in the same way. The ordeal took about five seconds this time, since Ruvyn didn't feel the need to prove his ability to rapid fire anymore.
Having fired barrages like this over and over, he already knew that the shot grouping was going to be tight; it had become a second sense to him after all these years of continuous practice. When the final arrow landed, there was little surprise. In the center ring, a few centimeters off the left, the three arrows lay, almost touching one another. |