Allison didn't like to think about Gerard, because the few times she'd ever seen her grandfather, he had terrified her in a bone-deep way she couldn't describe. She certainly didn't think of Kate or her father as anything like Gerard.
Allison had trouble as seeing her father as medieval. He wasn't modern or anything, but he also wasn't anything that "medieval" implied - both frighteningly cool and boorishly frustrating. He was just... her dad. A little more ruthless than she realized, a little more frightful, but still her dad, who had bandaged her cuts and scrapes and tucked her into bed and read to her.
It was possible her frustrations with her father went both ways - he was unable to see her as anything but his little girl and she was unable to see him as anything but her father.
"I'll mention it to him," she said. "And maybe we can get Angel out, too."
Allison fell silent as she watched Kate walk toward a tree, mentally calculating 60 yards. It was easy enough to load the crossbow and take aim - crossbows were generally easier to load and aim than compound bows, and her aim was slightly more accurate than it would have been had she been using her favorite compound bow.
She took a breath and specifically didn't focus on clearing her mind, letting the weight of the crossbow in her hands, the breeze around her, the scent of the forest ground her and focus her. And it was with a steady hand that she raised the crossbow and let a bolt fly, hitting the target only a few scant inches from the bull's-eye.