|Will Stutely (sly_stutely) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2021-04-20 22:49:00
|Entry tags:||clio, will stutely|
|Will the Bowman, they’d called him once. He’d been as good as born with a longbow in his hand, with a quick draw and a deadly aim to match or best any of the Merry Men, save for Robin himself.|
Six foot six and over a hundred pounds of draw weight. Most archers these days shot in the forty to sixty pound range. The English longbow was notoriously difficult to master, demanding not only physical power but highly developed muscle control and technique. All of which he’d had, before two weeks of imprisonment and starvation and infection had leached the strength from his from his bones and wasted his body. Another scrap of his frayed identity snatched away.
So it wasn’t about the wager, not really. It was about taking something back.
Strength training had become a daily part of Will’s routine: weights, pushups, pull-ups, all exercises to build up his depleted upper body muscles. It was paying off, slowly. He was feeling stronger in himself. With every week, his stamina was returning, the hollows in his cheeks filling in. He’d worked his way to heavier weights and full pull-ups.
Over a hundred pounds of draw weight: it was a marathon, not a sprint. He knew that. But every time he hefted that longbow, the balanced yew bowstave and wrapped leather grip so familiar in his hands, only to find his his muscles trembling with the effort of drawing the weapon even a couple of inches, the disappointment rose with a bitter tang in his mouth. Still, he kept at it.
Will had been pushing it with the weights today, and he was feeling it in the burn of his muscles and the sweat that clung to his t-shirt. Not the ideal time to once more test his strength against the bow… but the parsonage was quiet just now, nobody around to bear witness… and it’d been a week since last he’d had a go. No reason not to try.
He stripped off his t-shirt and pushed open Tuck’s weapons trunk, taking the bow in his hands once more. Gripped it firm with his left, took hold of the string with his right; set his stance and adjusted his elbow. Laid the weight of his body into the the bow as he drew his right arm back—
—all of an inch, before he slammed into a now-familiar wall of resistance. Cursing, he let his hand drop.