Training For Your Death? Doesn't Mean You Can't Have a Good Time

Rachel walked over to the ranged weaponry station. She had used a crossbow once or twice to keep wolves away. Once in a while a wolf would get through the fence and end up trying to eat sheep. She had only killed one wolf in her thirteen years; her father took so much pride in that first wolf. She never really understood why.

“Little missy, you might want to try something else,” said a trainer. Rachel glared at them. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she snarled. She picked up a crossbow. It was made of metal so it was heavier than the wooden ones she was used to. After pulling the string a bit without any arrows to get used to the crossbow she placed the first arrow in it. The first arrow missed and the trainer laughed. Rachel pulled it again and got a bullseye. She smirked at the trainer and did it three more times for measure.

Rachel went over to the knives. She tossed one back and forth between her hands. “Don’t you start on ‘little girls shouldn’t play with knives’ or else I will show you what little girls can do with knives,” said Rachel in a dangerous tone. She took the knife in her hand throwing it and hitting the target right on the first time. All that knife throwing at trees worked.

((Don't mind me jumping in))