He watched her pull her bow and line her shot. He had never been interested in using a bow, or any other weapon aside from his knifes. He preferred the feel of the steel in his hand, an extension of his body and his self, before he threw it to its mark.
"Show off," he said. He tried to look nonplussed. He didn't want to make a big deal about it. Who was he to think he was the only person who had impeccable aim? Obviously he wasn't.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Maybe she had a dad like his. He'd been throwing knives since he was a kid. The first time Reginald saw him throw something, he'd begun to foster Diego's ability. Diego didn't remember a time before he'd been forced to throw knives for hours on end.