This week with Times 7:
...He looked at the fine bow in his hands. Two-thirds of the arrow length was probably half the power that the bow would put out at full draw. In a few more weeks, with exercise, he could possibly draw it, but not now.
I’ve screwed up and become overconfident, and I’m going to pay for it with my life.
He fought to steady his breathing. This isn’t the time to panic, you idiot. Long, deep breaths. Concentrate on where I want the arrow to go.
He had fashioned his best arrowhead yet – prepared especially for the cat, but he had expected to use it from the safety of the cave, not out here in the open. Barely noticed, the colors swirled inside his brain, intensifying, but there was no time to relax himself and look for the thread.
The cat was almost upon him as he turned his back to the river, braced his feet, and with his best arrow already nocked, waited...
Have a goodun;
Roust