“Stop! Just stop!” Gale finally snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Gods above, you are useless.” The words escaped his lips before he could think, and he groaned in frustration at both himself and Anon. He hated losing his temper, and did not enjoy verbally abusing others, but Anon’s pure incompetence when it came to archery was driving him mad.

Training these imbeciles his father had allowed to become soldiers was quite draining on Gale. None of them could fight properly; their stances were awkward and unbalanced, making them easy targets in a real battle. They could hardly wield a sword, often dropping their weapons or mishandling them with clumsy, uncoordinated movements. Their attempts at archery were just as laughable. Most couldn’t even shoot a target five feet in front of them.

Gale understood that Narva’s army needed more people, but Vesston could have at least picked some capable recruits. Instead, he was stuck with a group of fumbling morons who seemed more likely to injure themselves than the enemy.

Anon was no different than the rest. He often found himself losing his temper, only to regret it shortly after. He was usually quite composed, didn’t lose his temper often, but with Soren practically at Narva’s gates, he had found himself quite stressed as of late.

“My apologies.” He swiftly apologized, letting out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly in a gesture of regret. “I’m afraid I let my temper get the best of me,” he murmured, the remorse evident in his eyes. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” He proposed, motioning for Anon to once again, attempt to hot the target.

He watched them silently, a furrow forming on his brow as Anon nocked the arrow, aiming at the target. But once again, their stance was off, their grip on the bow weak, and everything was just wrong.

“No, no, no, no,” Gale sputtered out, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation, as he briskly marched toward Anon. Standing behind them, he leaned in, his body close enough to feel the heat radiating from Anon. He adjusted their stance with rough, yet gentle hands, as if they were a doll before standing up straight again. “That’s better. Now fire.”