Ithacles watched her pull the string back and glanced out at the tree she intended to hit. He didn't watch her aim or release because of his own superstitious belief that it could jinx a shot. He just watched the target and sure enough the arrow buried itself. Thunk. About chest level, which would have been the optimum spot to hit a man sized target.
"Well done," he said. A slight breeze drew into the sheltered walkway like air into lungs, stirring the petals of the bluebells in their stone planters.
He simply nodded at the comment about the King's generosity. It was quite evident, given the current state of their lawns and city--the King had no issue with taking in those in need.
"We used to have a shooting tournament once a year."
He unfolded his arms and swatted a fly with the parchment he'd been clutching the entire time.
"Actually it should have been last week, but all things considered I thought it inappropriate to hold any event which could be considered...festive."