It Cannot Get Any Worse

Quentin was throwing well. He had never thrown better. He and the others decided to focus entirely on the furthest bale, and he had hit it with all four shots. Of the other four throwers, only two shots of twelve had hit the bale. The others went into the woods. Danny had hit the bale once, and one other shot went through the bale and into the woods as well. Quentin called a hold and ordered “retrieve” to the throwers. He made a note to move the bales over a bit when they returned as some of the missed shots had landed in the woods not too far from where Dad was poking at a big oak tree with his knives. He was not sure what weirdness Dad was up to, but Q certainly did not want any stray darts going his way. Quentin lead the group into the woods to look for the darts. Luckily seven foot long atlatl darts are pretty easy to find, even in the woods. They were collected in a few seconds, not the fifteen minutes archers have to spend looking for their puny arrows. They would count to make sure all were recovered once they got back into the sunlight.

As they came out of the woods, a grey Cadillac had pulled up to the side of the road to talk to Dad. Q wondered what they wanted, often people would stop to ask about atlatl because they had never seen it before. Q had to admit, throwing a seven foot long dart up to fifty yards into a bale of compressed straw is pretty impressive. However it did not seem to be all that impressive to the girls at school. Mostly the kids at school made fun of him and his dad for playing dress up in the SCA.