Comes to me quite so precisely as archery. The calculative accuracy of it is so innately entwined in instinct that it takes my breath away. It is undeniably breathtaking and unparalleled in it’s beautiful deadliness. It is wicked and lovely, whispering through the air a sudden end. It is silent as a breeze, and sure as a poison. No pursuit comes to me quite so precisely as archery, for the wild in me is as untamed as the twang of a bowstring.
About sums its up really! Beautiful.
Though I’d prefer my bow to make a thud, rather the a twang :P