For most competitors, 100 meters was the hardest distance to master. From a young age my father Algus Atyrmirid had taught me to use this knowledge to my advantage, constantly practicing shots from as far away as possible and working on building my intuition.
When it came to hunting, I was recognized by my peers as one of the best shots. Though I couldn’t measure the exact distance, there was one occasion where I hit a moving deer from about 70 meters out.
As I notched my first arrow at the 100 meter mark, I remember keeping this knowledge at the front of my mind. I needed all of the confidence I could muster if I hoped to advance and even if I couldn’t win against Fletching in the finals I would be the youngest competitor to get there. It had been my dream for as far as I could remember, and now was my chance to capture it.
The wind speed was virtually zero, making it easy for me to focus in on my mark. Even with my above average sight, I couldn’t really get a clear view of bulls-eye from this distance, but I had practiced this shot more than I could count.
“Commence firing!”
The moment of truth.
I pulled back on the string and held my breath, centering my mind and forgetting everything but the moment. I felt a connection to the arrow and as I focused ahead on the target I visualized my arrow landing solidly in the center. With a smooth exhale, I released.
From this distance, it would take a few seconds to actually hit the target and since I couldn’t see the result I chose to believe it was headed straight and true. Without thought, I slowly readied the next shot without losing focus.
Once again, I took in and held my breath. A very slight southeastern wind had picked up, so I adjusted my aim accordingly. I connected my breath to the arrow and as it flew I exhaled.
It felt surreal as I prepared the final arrow, once again adjusting for the wind and letting it fly.
In that moment, time seemed to slow almost to a halt and I could feel each fiber of the bow as I slowly lowered it and then proceeded to rest it over my shoulder.
“Hold while we tally the final score,” instructed the nearest judge.
Time flew back into normal sink, and the three other competitors all gathered closer together. Not wanting to be an outsider, I joined as well, all of looking forward expectantly.
I could see four judges, one at each target. They signaled to one another and then downfield to a single judge about 20 meters away. He signaled to the next judge down the line, who signaled to the next, and to the next, until it finally hit our nearest judge.
I was about ready to burst as he nodded and turned towards us.
“Congratulations Mr. Fletching and Mr. Atyrmirid. You are both going to the finals.”
