His left hand gripped the body of the bow, while the fingers on his right hand wrapped around the string and pinched the arrow’s end. Aben had set up a large brass disc near the grove of trees at the wall. Darien took aim, pulling the arrow back past his ear, but he did not direct his full attention to the target. Instead, he glanced at Saerileth out of the corner of his eye. She stood some distance off, near the pool’s north edge, her bow’s end planted in the grass before her. She leaned on her weapon and watched Darien, and Darien could not help but watch her and the way her thin, white Sunjaa gown clung to her wet body. The day was hot, but Saerileth was more scorching than any desert heat. Without shifting her gaze away from Darien’s face, Saerileth nodded at the far target. Darien focused on the shining brass disc and let his arrow fly. It struck dead center. Darien was used to firing his bow from the rolling deck of a ship at sea, so standing on solid ground was to him child’s play.
