Chapter 11. Dreams and Visions

SAELYNA

The first arrow misses the mark. I draw another and fire. It misses as well, and I kick the bow in frustration.

Cyran is doing fine. He’s the best at what he does. He knocks the arrow deftly, raises it to eye level, and aims. When he lets it go, it travels twice as fast as mine does, and strikes the red dot on the tree.

“The easiest thing in the world,” he says when he sees me watching, “I wonder why this isn’t a sport in Quindar.”

I stick my tongue out at him and draw another arrow from the stack on the ground. I try to imitate his adroitness, his stance, but it’s hopeless. The arrow misses the red dot and the tree entirely. I curse loudly and toss the bow to the ground.

“Easy now, lest you vex Archon.”

Dad emerges from the cottage behind me, his bow in hand. He is a tall man, too tall for an elf, and he sports a green coat that matches his eyes.

He walks down the steps and approaches me, picks up an arrow, and nocks it in his bow.