The Young Archer

     As she sat still her muscles began to ache. All that training she had done earlier in the day, the repetition of aiming her bow and firing at targets finally caught up, and with a soft thud, she landed backwards in the wheat that continued to sway. Letting out an exhausted sigh she stared up at the yellow sky, watching as the clouds moved ever so slowly. Morgan traced various shapes out of them with her hand, wanting to distract herself.

     “Today was a total disaster.”

     Softy said to herself as she traced the shape of an Altachuck from a chunky cloud. Training, in her eyes, had been a complete flop. Missing bullseyes that she hit days ago. Even missing her target altogether and shattering a few pots here and there. All while King Altador was there, observing her mistakes. Those feelings of being inadequate started to bubble up to the surface, and all she could do was look up at the yellow cloudy sky. The acara was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice a shadow rolling over her.

     “I’d say the day went pretty well, minus you running off your own that is.”

     It was King Altador himself, he’d gone looking for Morgan after she’d run off from her archery range. The acara sat up swiftly, wiping away a stray tear that rolled down her right cheek. He asked the young acara if he could sit down near her, she nodded softly as his heavy armour clunked onto the ground soft ground. They both sat in silence for a while, Morgan bringing her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. He could tell the young girl was upset with what happened that day. Not wanting to fan any flames he kept his patience and waited for her to speak her mind. Finally, Morgan spoke in a delicate tone.

     “I really messed up at training today.”

     This remark puzzled the King, he felt that she did well all things considered. She splintered a few of her targets in half and stayed focused when needed. He thought that her frustration over her performance today was due to a tournament that she was preparing for. But he could see it was something else that bothered her, he stayed silent letting the girl continue to speak.

     “I did so well yesterday, but I just tensed up and flubbed it. I looked like a total idiot!”

     She grabbed at her bow again, looking down at it as she traced her fingers over the sun decal that decorated the front. Altador looked over at the upset acara, he’s rarely ever seen her so down-spirited. She always lit up a room no matter where she went. It's like, somehow, someone had hit a switch and that light she carried was dimmed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke in a kingly tone.

     “I believe you did admirably, young one.”

     She didn’t speak, playing with her bow. He knew what she was thinking, it was a conversation they’d had in the past, it was about her parents. His brow lowered as he looked down at the perturbed acara, gentle hand still placed on her shoulder.

     “You aren’t them you know.”

     Morgan’s head shot up when he mentioned her parents and her lilac eyes welled. He continued.

     “You may not be skilled with magic nor a sword, but the way you mastered your craft in archery is something to behold young one. Give it a few more months and you might be able to out shoot me at the range!”

     The King’s tone became more lighter as he made the last remake, hoping it would quell the young acara’s mood. Morgan’s face lit up a little like he’d hope, but it soon dulled again. She spoke up.

     “I know, but they did so much at my age! They saved your city, saved Faerieland from falling onto Meridell and..”

     A tear rolled down her flushed cheek, rubbing it away as to not embarrass herself in front of the King. She continued, trying to keep her voice still.

     “I feel like I can’t live up to it. No matter how much I ache after hours of training, no matter how long I stay up with my studies. I feel like I’ll never amount to them!”

     He gave her a stern but gentle look, carefully taking the bow into his hands. He spoke with his kingly tone again, catching Morgan’s complete attention.

     “You may not have saved an entire empire, nor vanquished a great evil, but it is true that your parents and friends are proud of what you accomplished, they never want you to experience the burden that they carried all those years ago. They love you for who you are, not of what you’ll become.All they wish for is that you’re safe, young one.”

     The acara soon calmed down at his royal words, she gave a soft smile as she recalled a memory of her father trying to wield her bow, only for him to shatter a priceless stained glass portrait of the royal family. Or how she would retell stories to Alistair about her latest visit while gifting him a book from the archives. Altador held his hand out, her bow sat proudly in his palm. Without hesitation she grabbed it, brushing off her robes of dirt.

     “Your parents will be here any minute for the Cup’s festivities, but with your mind clear, why not have one last go with your bow?”

     As best as the young acara could, she helped lift the armoured King from where he sat, he pointed down to a forested area near the bottom of the field and the two briskly made their way down, trying not to roll or trip on anything on the way.

     It was an old oak, probably as old as the city itself, a piece of weathered wood with the Altadorian Sun painted over it ever so beautifully. Morgan knew of this place, Altador himself would come to this forest and train back when the city barely had walls. Nodding, the King pointed to the target.

     Holding her breath, she held her bow steady and stayed true. The king's words echoed in her mind as she lined up her shot "Slow, concentrate, focus on your goal, let nothing stand in your way." The arrow flew with such force it snapped the old wood board in half.

     "Bullseye" she whispered to herself.

     The End.