Re: Chapter 4 - Homochitto National Forest
-from the Caravan Compound with Tom, Brady and New Mexico
The trek to the forest took a little while. If they'd had any sort of vehicles the trip would have been simple. As it was they had been stuck on foot for a long time now, not that vehicles were as reliable as one would like considering the abandoned wrecks and debris strewn across road and waterways alike.
Joe seemed more relaxed and in his element out amongst the greenery of the forest. Embedded amongst the dense canopy of the old woods, they could hear the faint sound of a nearby stream, recently unfrozen by the onset of spring. Buds of growth were beginning to sprout along branches and upon the earth, with birds adding in to the sound of the group walking with intermittent chirping. The sun peaked through the treetops where it could, as if they were in some spacious, wooden pillared room with the blinds drawn.
The grizzled archer took them deep enough to be securely off the beaten path, afforded some extra buffer of protection from wayward drifters, humans. When it came to the dead, Joe never assumed he was alone.
Joe situated them carefully in an upwind place to practice. The Caravaneers set up a temporary training camp on a flat, wide plain, upon a elevated portion of the forest floor to give them the best, albeit spotty, coverage of their surroundings.
"Watch me, and then you lot can try." Joe told the others as he stepped forward, his sturdy yet pliable bow in rough, weathered hand. His quiver of arrows hung from his belt and he summarily plucked each of them out to stick into the ground so the others could easily access them. They had other supplies, but Joe trusted them each to pick up what they put down, or they'd be getting a kick in the rear later. They could be potentially tracked back to their camp and they couldn't spare supplies/material either.
Adjusting his posture after plucking up one of the arrows from the ground, his feet approximately shoulder width apart, his body facing to the side. Joe raised his bow slowly so the others could see the proper hand placement and positioning of the body. In a smooth, fluid movement, he inserted the arrow into the equation, plucking back and holding the bowstring with two bent fingers, the feathered end of the arrow secured between the digits.
His piercing green eyes focused on the trunk of a tree twenty feet ahead, aiming for the eye of what the wrinkled bark of the tree seemed to frame as almost a face, like one of those stains that weirdo's claim looks like Jesus H himself.
Releasing as the right moment as he quietly exhaled, the arrow slid free while everything else stayed put. In a blink of the eye the arrow pierced into the wood of the tree, the missile throbbing from the force of the impact, the feathered end bouncing and vibrating briefly.
"Decide amongst yourselve's who goes next. Try and get as close to my arrow as you can. And try not to miss, I don't want to have to play fetch after." He held out his personal bow for one them to take, though really Tom or Brady as NM had seemed to tag along for the most part.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:56, Wed 22 Apr 2015.