Gemotions

The familiar weight of the bow felt strange in her hands. The usual calm she found on the archery range was missing. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. She usually shot compound, but now it was recurve. Each breath was a conscious effort, a struggle against the rising tide of her unease.

She focused on the target, but the bullseye seemed to waver. Her vision felt blurred. The silence of the range, usually a source of comfort, now amplified her inner turmoil. She didn't want this change. She didn't want to fail. She felt as though she was teetering on a precipice.