I tugged the arm guard on over my wool shirt and fumbled with the glove. It was in need of oiling, but fit relatively well once I got it on. I watched the Huntress out of the corner of my eye as she hauled an old target made of sacking and aged straw out of the bowels of the stable, trying not to remember the feel of her skin against mine.

“Any idea how to string a bow?” she asked me when she returned.

“You put the loop over the end.”

“Try it.”

I secured the string to the nock on the lower limb of the bow and tried to bend it.

“Stop.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Brace the bow against your boot, or it will slip.”

I tried again. It was hard to concentrate with her standing so close to me, but I managed to bend the bow enough to slip the bowstring into place.

“Good. Here.”

I took the arrow she offered and nocked it, preparing to draw.

“There are two ways to shoot a bow,” she said, moving her hand down my arm to adjust my grip. “The proper way, and the necessary way. We’ll start with the proper way.”

She raised my elbow as she spoke, then turned my body perpendicular to the target.

“Widen your stance,” she said, and there was no way to convince myself I was not acutely aware of how little space separated her lips from my ear. I moved my foot back, which brought me up against her body.

“What’s the necessary way?” I asked, to keep myself from thinking.

“The way you’ll shoot in the woods. Pull back with your first two fingers and sight down the shaft toward the target. When you’re ready, release.”

She stepped away from me, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The target seemed very far away from the tip of the arrow and my arm shook with the effort of the draw.

I missed.

“Now watch me.” The Huntress plucked the bow from my hand. She nocked and released before I could blink, the arrow hitting the target with a thunk. Then she shot again, and again, standing, kneeling, and once, lying in the snow. Each time, the arrow found its mark, and when she turned to me at last I recognized the gleam in her eye for what it was: joy.

“Now, watch as I do it the proper way.” This time, she stood as I had, with her feet squared beneath her shoulders. She released three arrows in quick succession, then slowed for my benefit. “Do you see?”

“I think so.”

“You learn how to walk before you run, but you won’t always have time in the woods to perfect your stance. Or the space.” She handed the bow back to me.

“How long did it take you to shoot like that?”