Frank stood straight, measuring the distance between himself and the target. Wind was coming in WxSW at 3-5 mph, humidity was high and the shot angled downwards by 28 degrees.

His barely trembling eyelids were the only indication that Frank was focused solely on a man 40 yards in the distance. Breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, you could almost see wisps of stress float into the mid-afternoon sky.

Frank raised his compound bow. Already straightened, he brought his arm to an exact 90 degree angle and prepared for the shot.

With his body set, he nocked an arrow in the center of his bowstring, placing his index finger above and the middle/ring fingers below.

Frank drew the arrow towards his face, not stopping until he felt his thumb graze his jawbone; tension was now corralled for a deadly means.

His fingers gave way, letting loose a kinetic assault upon the air around him. The slender body of his bow’s companion left, streaking, towards the warm embrace of its future mate.