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Sorry for the late reply; I’ve been a little mentally swamped.
Moth
Moth took a look at Ari’s hand. He put the ring on and dropped an arrow onto the bow. He studied Ari’s hand position, looking back and forth between their bows, and did his best to mimic the expert. It was probably best to be sure of what to do before he pulled the string back.
“Is this good?” he asked.
Ari checked what he was doing and nodded.
Focus. Moth hooked the string behind his thumb, pulled his arm back – which took more effort than he had subconsciously expected – and lifted the bow. As he aimed, the arrow fletching tickled his cheek, like long grass brushing against him in the midst of a field. His own weapon was so close to him that it felt as if he was bringing it up to his face to bless it.
Moth imagined this as he assessed the target. He let out a breath, easing into a steady position, and let go of the arrow.
The arrow only made it halfway to the hay bale. In the blink of an eye, it transformed. The shaft turned into a flower stem, leaves fluttering, and the arrowhead blossomed into a silvery white flower.
As other students’ arrows hit the targets, Moth’s drifted lazily to the floor.
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