Across the Drained Sea

Ni-T'o gently adjusted Nate's elbow as the former US cavalry scout pulled back the bowstring. Nate was a sure shot with pretty much any gun, but the stone-age weapon was giving him fits. Ni-T'o let out a soft, sighing whistle, which Nate imitated. Once all the air was out of him, he let the arrow fly.

"Dammit!" Nate hissed as the arrow landed several yards away from the target, the life-sized outline of a man chalked onto a steep bank.

"Better." Ni-T'o . . .

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