Chapter Eleven

   The arrow zipped through the air and hit the target with a precision any veteran marksman would be envious of, splitting the last arrow to hit the bull’s-eye in two.  It was a rare precision in these parts, or any at all in the entire country, it’s rarity made it only available to the sight of a few people once in a long while. Some treasures were shared with others, and others were to be enjoyed in the solitude of the one who possessed them.

   This was one of those gifts that rarely left the secrets of the woods. It was shrouded brilliantly, even though in existence for more than five decades, only the forests witnessed those rare moments when focus met resilience and precision was born. For many years, only the forests had known, until recently when a few people were welcomed into the fold, but even they, seldom participated or witnessed the kind of peace only archery could bring to an otherwise troubled soul.

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