art by crypsis
To hold a weapon was to know power. Any fool could wield steel or stone, but to truly know what these armaments meant was to be given a greater strength. Ones body was a weapon as well, but not in this manner. An arrow could kill from yards away. A sharp blade could strike deeper than claw and tooth. Had Ezekiel not, in a warped lesson once meant for healing, shown him what vital areas would give a sure death? The healer’s lessons had been corrupted as had his leader, but Max saw none of this. He saw only the path ahead of him.
Sparrow was quick to learn, and watching her, he felt a rush of elation. He followed suited with her position, taking up his own weapon. The draw was made quickly, elbow abducted and feet forming a sharp base below his hips. Both eyes focused on the target ahead, and with an exhale, he release the arrow. It cut through the air sharply, striking close to the omphalos of their target. Expectantly, he stared ahead yet—she had yet to take her shot, and he intended to see what she was capable of. If her quick learning proved anything, he would expect great things from her.
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