I stretched my elbow tightly backwards, pulling the tail of the arrow. My other hand held the bow straight, right in front of me, and I aimed at the apple far away from me, hanging on the stem of a tree. Bringing all the focus from the wind rustling against the tree leaves, the slight movements of my horse on which I was sitting, the darkness slowly eating the sky and my inner turmoil, I looked sharply at the apple.
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