02-17-2008, 02:54 AM
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Perhaps the name should have hang a bell; it did, almost distantly, but Valentine didn't act on it. Names were names and as of that very moment, he was far too occupied with accepting the bow to view and examine then probe his memory banks for a wild story told to him some time ago. “Well, traditions are a very good thing to have. That's part of the reason why I came back here to this place,” and one of these days he was going to be known for giving entirely useless information. “One cannot be absurdly well-rounded without a good culturing… but I digress. What makes this bow special is the fact that it's made from a nice hardwood. It's been sealed pretty well as well,” he carried on, feeling the curve of the bow as though it were made of glass.[/html]
He handled it in quite the same way, too. “It shouldn't break on you in the coldest of cold weather or warp if you decide to take it to somewhere annoying humid and warm. The string's made of a nice material too, but it'll eventually wear out down the road—they all do—and best of all, it's just the right size for someone of your build to use.” Whoever had picked out the tool had certainly known what they were doing. “If it were too large to use, you wouldn't be able to put enough strength into your shot, and too small and you'd constantly overshoot and run the risk of cracking the frame.” Then, very carefully, he offered the bow back to its owner.