Morning grass squelches like a moist flannel. Dew soaks through my trainers, but at least the sun warms my arms.
Waiting to shoot first sight, I spot a new guy. Younger than the usual crowd, he’s kneeling by the fence. Brown-blonde curls kiss his neck and a lightly-tanned face hides behind sunglasses.
Daring, I ask the ordinary question, “How long you been shooting?”
Glancing up, his face lit with a wide grin that warms mine, he says, “Got back into it a couple of weeks ago.”
He finishes stringing his bow.
A whistle sounds. It’s safe to shoot first sight.