by Izumi (イズミ)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/92188.html)

He’d been watching for weeks now, sitting on the sidelines and wasting time before he had to go home. There was no reason he could explain with words, only a pressing desire to be here as the targets were rolled out, the bows strung, and the soft smacking sound made by arrows sinking into the paper. It’s beautiful, he thought idly. Archery is beautiful.

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