Submission (#9387) Approved

All his life Moe aspired to the top. Especially in sports. Especially archery, his favorite sport since childhood, when he watched his father beat targets quickly and gracefully. He often went hunting, took his son with him to teach him some skills and convey the experience of shooting visually. However, Moe was not very fond of shooting animals, he enjoyed hitting targets and breaking his own records at a distance, and sometimes even experimenting with shots, looking for his methods of reaching heights, but still looking up to his father.

He was on the bus with his partners, looking out the window and looking at the hills, the fields and the woods to slowly flow with the bus, disappearing somewhere far beyond the horizon and remaining behind. So is Moe’s house.
He had a smile on his face, a breeze blowing pleasantly from the open window, weakening the warmth of the hot sun. There were no clouds in the sky, and the training promised to be stuffy, but Moe hoped that he could use such an obstacle, although he liked cloudy and rainy weather more, because as a child he even managed to train at such a time, after which he often got sick and his mother took care of him, Often chastised for recklessness. However, now he is a grown and tempered kid, any rain is not enough for him. Not like a bright hot sun.

The trip is going to be a long one, so Moe pulled a study journal and a personal diary out of his luggage, making a little rash and putting his clothes aside.
The journal was instructive on shooting, popular medalists and various methods of training those who loved this sport. His father even shows up here, he was quite popular for a while as an archer, which made Moe incredibly proud and wanted to be like him.

Turning pages and reading articles, Moe occasionally wrote down interesting moments for him in a magazine - the records of which were always about the shooting, starting from infancy when his father was still teaching him. There were even occasional notes from his father, some corrections, or just supplements, that gave the guy exactly what to do.
Moe smiled, giving way to his childhood memories and biting the handle, peering out the window again and then noticing the azure water in the distance, where the sun’s rays were playing on her, flickering, glinting and blurring to reunite again. Yeah, it would be nice to swim now to get rid of the summer heat. The boy took a hard breath, picked up his diary and began waving it at himself, reproducing a pleasant cold, brushing away the warmth of the sun.

After a while, when the heat began to subside and the sun retired, it became easier, but now it became very sleepy, which our protagonist did not refuse, settling in a chair comfortably wrapped and slowly closing his eyes to sleep.
In the window the sun was hidden behind the rubble, creating a red sunset, spreading across the sky and clouds, enveloping them in colors, mixing and moving gradient to pink and there and blue.

The bus rode quietly along the smooth road, creating a peaceful environment, as if in a crib, where your mother carsick you. It quickly put Moe to sleep.
As they rode through the sky, a star appeared one by one, so small and large.

And Moe had sweet dreams of victory, of medals, of trophy and great joy. The way he comes home with the Golden Bowl, he’s happy with his friends and celebrates it with the company. There was a smile on his lips as he rested his sweater over his sleep, which covered him to keep him from getting too cold. He thrust his head into his shoulders, into his soft wool, and fell asleep harder

A great morning breeze blew around every creature that was preparing for the competition. It was quite hot, especially from the scorching sun, which fried the guys as if to prevent them from preparing for the competition. The most enjoyable part was the swim, as the water was pleasantly warm to the touch.
Most often covered their eyes with the palm of their hand from the sun, occasionally wiping the sweat from the hard grueling exercise.
Our main character is Mo, an experienced archer, a medalist. For him any target is not a problem, he can see both distant and small targets perfectly. He woke up earlier than everyone else to take up targets and start preparing before it was too hot. However, the sun had caught up with him, which was an occasional unpleasant reminder.

During the preparation, it is always important to take into account the stance, hand position, careful breathing and calm thoughts, so that his hands do not shake and the arrow did not fly a little above or a little below the target, or at all past, which is not allowed in the competition and it would be a disgrace for Mo.

And then... Mo held his breath, squinted a little, tensed his back muscles... his hand gently drew the arrow on the bowstring, making a distinctive sound. But then he was shoved sharply, the arrow flung forward and flew past the target somewhere far away, disappearing behind his gaze.
Moe growled, frowning at whoever had caused such a mishap. It was the guys from his camp who had also come to practice archery, the one who had accidentally pushed Mo was carrying a bunch of stuff, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground, dropping everything.
-Are you alright? - The guy said, then put his bow behind his back and started to help his colleague up and collect the things and bags in the neighborhood. - Why did you take so much to shoot?
The other Symprite smiled brightly at our hero, and then began to pull out various things like a table and chairs, a huge beach umbrella, and then a carrier for ice and drinks. Provided complete comfort for preparation, that's right! During training, you could periodically rest and not get sunstroke, which would not be very pleasant Mo smiled awkwardly, nodding at such equipment, and then exhaled heavily, again shielding his hand from the sun. It wouldn't hurt to cool off to continue training.
Mo smiled awkwardly as he nodded at such equipment, and then exhaled heavily, once again shielding himself from the sun with his hand. It wouldn't hurt to cool down to continue training.
He was provided with a cold soda, which he instantly opened and greedily began to sip the sweet fizzy drink, immediately feeling a pleasant coldness spreading through his body. After a couple of sips, the guy leaned the can against his hot forehead, feeling a pleasant burning chill.
Smiling contentedly, he set the drink back on the table, feeling a rush of energy for the next bow practice.
Turning back to the targets, the creature once again got into the proper stance, tensing certain muscles, exhaling slowly with his mouth, focusing on the target and only the target. A pleasant cool breeze blew over him and catching the right moment, the shot was fired: the arrow flew exactly forward with a distinctive whistle, hitting the bullseye. Mo smiled smugly, already confident in his marvelous shooting skills. His comrade stood next to him, and he wanted to watch. He stood up, drew his bow and shot, but the arrow flew past. Shivering slightly, he pulled out another arrow, drawing it again and trying to aim. The arrow flew away again with a whoosh, but hit the edge of the target, before instantly falling off and falling to the grass. Buddy was starting to look frustrated, he picked up the arrow again, drew it and trying to concentrate, fired. Once again the arrow flew past.
Moe chuckled softly in a kindly way with such and walked over to the one, "Need help?"
The friend nodded sadly to our hero, looking at him hopefully.
-Look, you're standing on the ground very unsteady. Your shoulders are tense, they need to be relaxed a little, - the guy in the demonstration stood in the rack, showing the mistakes of his colleague, pointing with his hands on the muscles and the correct position of the fingers. - You don't need to shoot mindlessly, you need to concentrate on the arrow, and consider the bow as an extension of your hand. The mind needs to be cleared and not hovering in the clouds.
Mo pointed to the sky, where fluffy clouds were drifting into the unknown, as if to show what might be going on in his friend's mind. He nodded in agreement, understanding Mo's teachings, and then stood in the recommended stance, stiffening a little for a while, followed by an arrow shot that.... flew over the target.
Mo chuckled quietly at that, "Don't overdo it. Think about how the arrow hits the point, not how it flies and with how much force."
The boy took his bow in his hands, stringing the arrow.
- Also think of your breathing. A hitched breath will make your hands shake, which isn't very favorable for shooting.
Taking a deep breath, Mo covered his eyes with his eyelids and took a shot. The arrow accurately hit the point.
- You can redirect your thoughts into your hands. Imagine you're a painter, the arrow is the brush and the bow is the palette. The target is the easel, you need to paint on the target with the arrow, ahah.
Mo laughed a little at such an unusual comparison of his own, but he thought it was a pretty good explanation of archery.
His colleague began to look more inspired, his pupils reflecting a glint of readiness to make a successful shot.
The boy stood up more confidently, drew the arrow on the bow, exhaled languidly, squinted a little. There was a heavy silence in the air, only the cold wind blew the bodies. And then a sharp whistle was heard. The arrow hits right next to Moe's arrow.
- Oh, that's a great result buddy!!! - Mo looked at the target and his comrade with joy.

His friend was no less pleased, he started jumping in place, giving in to the rush of emotion and afterward thanking Mo for such a teaching, initially even trying to hug him, but however the guy pulled away, for it was too hot for such close bonds, and afterward smiled awkwardly.
- Come on, my friend, practice some more. One shot may not be enough, but I'm sure you'll do well.
Moe returned to the soda table, sitting down on a chair under the umbrella and sipping contentedly on the cold drink that was now helping so much during this practice session.

The Symprite was watching his coworker and how he was doing. He was happy that he was able to pass on his experience as a father. Moe smiled at the thought and thought that he could become a coach in the future, so that he could train the same guys and then prepare them for large-scale competitions, just as he was preparing for a competition soon.
After some more rest time, Mo returned to the targets to practice on the moving. The concentration on them needed to be even more, as well as to provide for further movement of the target to shoot the arrow in advance on that route and hit the target precisely.
Clearing his thoughts, Moe closed his eyes, trying not to pay attention to the burning sun, as well as the sound of arrows whistling to his right, which his partner was firing.
Slowly exhaling, opening his eyes, he watched the targets and projected the arrow’s movement towards the target. Shot. Unfortunately the arrow only touched the side and flew past. With miscalculations apparently there was some mistake. Moe hummed, lowering the bow, and reassessing the target movements. It didn’t make him upset, it just made him more started thinking about how to make things rightstarted thinking about how to make things right.

Once again, he pulls the arrow. He waits for the right moment and shoots. The arrow hit near the center, but this is a better result! Practice more and the arrow will hit the bull’s-eye again.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and breathed hard from the sun, and lifted his gaze to the sky, which was not a single cloud of evil. It’s getting hard to shoot, I don’t want to catch a sunstroke.
Moe glanced at his comrade, who continued to sharpen his shooting skills with the methods that Moe had advised him to use, and grinned as he returned to the umbrella and had another drink. We should wait until tomorrow, maybe the temperature will go down a little, so it’ll be easier to train.

With the next day, it’s really easier. The day promised to be good and cool. The air was not so intense and stuffy, and the cool breeze was more pleasant than yesterday. Today was more cloudy, from which the sun looked less and not so warmed the ground.
Moe decided to start again with his current targets to sharpen his quick-fire skills. Concentrating for a second, he fired a shot, redirecting his gaze and bow to other targets to make the shot faster. Three times the arrow whistled and three times the guy hit the bull’s-eye. He probably had no problem with that, so he decided to go back to the moving target. We need to practice shooting at the target, and then hone the speed of the shooting.
Squinting and concentrating on the target, the guy makes a shot, then hits closer to the middle. Already much better, there is still a little. Deciding not to dwell on his fleeting joy, he takes a new arrow, pulls on the aunt and shoots, hitting the target! The guy smiled at himself and exhaled, his tail slowly swaying from side to side, expressing the pleasure of the process.
Pulling the arrow onto the bow, it puts an arrow into another target, which moves a little faster than the previous one, hits close to the target, but not exactly into it. But the subsequent shot was accurate.
During the training, moving to faster moving targets, the guy learned to do it a little faster and more accurately.

With each shot he was pleased with himself and felt proud of himself, occasionally remembering his father, who was probably proud of him. But this is still warm-up, training, and the actual result will show the competition. But in any case, he was confident in himself and his powers, he’s good at it, he understands the trajectory of the arrow, the force of tension and the range of the target.

In any case, Moe decided not to stop there, but to continue training, already working with another difficulty of targets.
Now I had to hit the target without hitting the moving dummy from side to side. The arrow flies right to the point, but quite a bit touches the training dummy. This should not happen, it is a mistake. Moe shook his head to retrieve the arrow, but his quiver was empty, forcing him to reach past targets to retrieve his arrows. He did not count the pairs in search of everyone, but after shrugging his shoulders, the boy headed back to the targets with mannequins, putting arrows into his quiver.
After several accurate shots, the guy trained the ability to shoot past the mannequins. That’s great! He quietly rejoiced for himself, moving on to the next level.
He was soon joined by a colleague who was shooting at his targets, from which Moe looked at how he was doing and whether he would need support or advice.

However, the boy was doing quite well, probably continuing to follow Moe’s advice, which pleased Moe himself. He smiled at the corner of his lips and headed for the next category of shooting.
Now it was necessary to shoot at moving targets that were hiding behind the plate. It is not permissible to hit the plate, it is necessary to target.
A series of shots, and Moe honed the hit, even though he often missed or hit the plate.
With the course of extremely grueling training, Moe felt pleasant fatigue and some muscle pain, from which he decided to take a break, going to his favorite place - under the umbrella.
As he approached the place, he took out another soda from the ice box, which he immediately opened with a distinctive sound and took a few sips, which immediately spread out over the body, cooling.
Looking in the drawer, he noticed among the sodas and ice cream packs, which were cute pictures of the faces of other guys. Very nice and very tasty. He crouched back to the box, grabbing one of the ice creams in his hand and examining them, after grinning, putting them back into the ice.

After some time of rest, the boy returned to the targets, rubbing his bow and looking at the arrows whether they broke where and did not wear aunt. Having made sure that his belongings were in working order, he again began to shoot at the targets, accurately and accurately getting into the middle.
However, he should have gone on jogging and exercise on the rest of the training days as well, in order to maintain other muscles in tone and not strain his back constantly.

The days dragged on for a long time, but Mo’s training didn’t pay much attention to this, he was immersed in his favorite business, being sure that he would win in these competitions, because he tried hard and worked for it, Especially with love for this event and with a great desire to bring home another cup and become with your father. The same popular record holder and medalist, so that he was known, and he was madly proud of himself and of course handsome from trained muscles.

Reward	Amount
Obsidian Dust	2
Chest of Shells	2
Gold	3