“Wow,” Brodie said upon seeing the array of bows, arrows, and other archery gadgets.
“A few ground rules,” he said. “No touching unless I give you permission. These aren’t toys. Understood?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Zeke lifted a simple, lightweight longbow from a wall peg and held it out to him. “Give this one a try.”
Brodie took the bow with hesitant hands, his eyes round with wonder and curiosity. Curling the tips of his fingers around the finger guard, he gave the drawstring an experimental pull, surprised by its tightness.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” He took the bow from him and settled it back on the peg. “Let’s get you geared up. Safety first when working with weapons. Left-handed or right-handed?”
Brodie held up a hand. “Right.”
Zeke strapped a child-sized armguard around the boy’s left forearm. “This will protect your arm from string burn.”
“String burn?”
“It can take a while to learn how to position your arm so the string doesn’t hit it.” He grabbed a pair of small safety glasses from a box and hooked them over the boy’s nose and ears. “Safety first.” The likelihood of an eye injury from an exploding bow was low, but Duke Blackwell had always insisted his boys wear safety glasses while using any weapon. “Now it’s time to select your arrows.”
Brodie went straight for the wicked-looking metal broad heads.
“Not those.” He pointed to a section of shorter arrows with aerodynamic target points. “Those.”
“But—”
“No buts. You gotta earn your way to the big dogs.”
With a little less enthusiasm, Brodie started pulling out arrows with blue, green, and red fletching, bypassing the whites, yellows, and pinks.
Once he had six in hand, Zeke held out a leather quiver, and Brodie dropped the arrows into the narrow tube. Zeke helped him position the quiver on his back and adjusted the strap before holding out his bow. “You’re ready to shoot now.”
That perked him up again, and the boy followed him back to the range.
“Sit tight for a second.” He strode to the nearest target and moved it to within five yards of the shoot line and returned to Brodie’s side. “Ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
Zeke grabbed his bow off the rack and notched an arrow, showing Brodie what he was doing each step of the way and waiting for him to follow suit.
“The key to a smooth release is to inhale when you pull back the string and exhale when you let it go.”
Brodie looked a bit dubious.
“Watch me.”
Zeke put words to action, adjusted his aim so the arrow would land on the outer ring, and released. The arrow thunked into the target. “Piece of cake, right?”
Brodie did his best to mimic Zeke’s technique, and the arrow whirred drunkenly to the ground four feet away.
“Nice,” Zeke said.
The boy gave him an are-you-blind look.
“Archery, like riding a bike, takes practice—and a whole lot of determination.”
Zeke notched another arrow, adjusted his aim, and released. The arrow sank three inches closer to the bull’s-eye.
“See? Practice.” He pulled an arrow from Brodie’s stash and handed it to him. “Give it another try.”