The forest was quiet in an almost artificial way.
Not a dead silence—but that living silence, laden with small sounds that only existed because no one spoke too loudly. The distant rustling of leaves, the occasional snap of a branch, the discreet song of some bird that hadn't yet decided to flee.
Damon stood between two trees, bow in hand.
And clearly uncomfortable.
He spun the object once, assessing its weight, the curve of the wood, the tension of the string. It wasn't bad. Well-made. Balanced. Still, it felt… wrong in his hands. Very different from the familiar solidity of a spear.
"You're holding it like it's going to attack you," commented Aria, standing beside him, arms crossed. "Relax."
"I am relaxed," Damon replied, too tense to lie well.
Aria raised an eyebrow.
"Damon… you defeated thirty knights single-handedly. But now it seems someone handed you a wild animal."
