Arc, Arrows, Quiver

Hugh Fletcher examined the pile of goose feathers on the bench and shook his head.  Lefts, he mused.  He always gives me bleeding lefts.  Hugh knew that there was only one left-handed archer in the village and yet the reeve continually provided him with left wing feathers, and far too many of them cocks and not nearly enough hens.  He knew it was his own fault of course.  He should never have courted and married Lizzie Browne, when he knew that Robert Reeve had fancied her.  Now he would look incompetent yet again as his bowmen lost the tournament.


Flash Fiction Challenge: Feathers

3 thoughts on “Fletcher

  1. Ah this poor unfortunate soul. It wears a man down to be beaten over and over. At least he has love? I hope Reeve rethinks his approach, grows up a little. Perhaps, as Liz says, Fletcher would do well to bring his own gear. Creative take on the prompt Padre! Fletcher’s voice came through strong. I wonder if he’ll feature in other flash pieces.

    Liked by 1 person

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