“You’re holding it wrong.” Sova pointed out, standing at your side as he watched your feeble attempt at shooting a bow— judgement painted his face.

“Then stop with the aphorism and help me..” You shot the man a glare.

In a few short movements, Sova stood behind you; altering the position of your elbows, his steady hands hovered over your own as he assisted you with your troubles— “Вот именно, it’s not that complex.” The Russian muttered, his breath hitting the side of your face as he spoke.