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Thunk .
The knife sank into the dirt below and behind the target, joining its brethren in a sad display. The target, an old slab of soft wood notched and marred by years of practice, sat with only one sleek knife dead center. The one that Sheriff Cash had thrown as a demonstration. Jed stomped his foot into the ground and cursed himself for his inability to perform in front of his audience, and the Sheriff watched, indifferent.
“I expected better after what Floyd told me,” The Sheriff said, pushing off the wall she’d been leaning against. She sauntered up to Jed and circled him slowly, thick arms crossed, analyzing his stance. She towered over him, but Jed stood proud and defiant despite the Sheriff’s intimidating stature.
“Front foot back.” The Sheriff kicked at his feet, forcing him to move the one opposite his throwing arm forward slightly. She placed a large hand on his shoulder and drew him up, giving him a rough thump on the lower back. “Stand straight. Shoulders square to the target.”
The Sheriff made one more slow circuit around Jed and eyed him for a few additional seconds. “And you ain’t gonna hit nothin’ but dirt if you don’t relax.”
Jed gave her a belligerent pout, but the Sheriff was unaffected. She procured another knife and held it out to Jed. As Jed reached for it, she pulled it back and raised an eyebrow at him, as if silently repeating her previous statement. Jed bristled for a moment, then forced himself to release the tension in his jaw. Seeing this, the Sheriff handed over the knife.
“These knives are single-edged. Blunt side toward you, sharp edge away, handle pointed up. Thumb on one side of the blade, fingers on the other. Keep your pinky off it.” Sheriff Cash lifted Jed’s arm into the proper position and continued. “When you throw, shift your weight from your back leg to your front. Keep your arm goin’ straight ahead—don’t go throwin’ it like a ball. And don’t let go too late unless you want stitches in your knee.”
Sheriff Cash disengaged and stepped back once more. Jed watched her go, then turned his attention back to his target. He took a deep breath. Then another. He willed his limbs to remain loose, focusing on the cool steel of the blade in his hand, the give of the dirt and sand beneath his feet. He trained his eyes on the single knife currently embedded in the center of the target, visualizing how the Sheriff had thrown it. Relax , he thought to himself.
Jed whipped his arm forward, loosing the knife toward the wooden slab. The knife tumbled through the air, spinning along its trajectory. The throw seemed perfect, headed for the center of the slab without losing height or drifting to the side. There was a loud CLANG and the knife was suddenly whirling back toward Jed.
Thunk.
It took Jed a few moments before he understood what had happened. Sheriff Cash stood over him, one hand gripping his shoulder and pushing him back. The Sheriff’s other hand was held out in front of her, the tip of the knife Jed had thrown sticking slightly out the back, blood dripping in small rivulets down her arm and onto the ground.
“ Shit .” The Sheriff hissed under her breath.
Jed gaped in shock and horror at the Sheriff’s hand. “Oh—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I—”
“No need for that.” The Sheriff cut him off. As she straightened, she pulled the knife from her hand and let the blade clatter to the ground.
“But—but your hand—!”
“My fault. Shoulda taken the other knife out first.” The Sheriff gripped the wound tightly with her uninjured hand and called indoors. “Birde! Need some first-aid out here!”
Jed stared at the bloody knife on the ground, unsure how to proceed. Sheriff Cash had offered to train him as a favor to Silas, who had spoken on his behalf about his apparent talent and… ferocity. Would the Sheriff refuse to teach him now and abandon him? Would she be angry with Silas for asking her to train someone so useless? Would she—
“Kid.” The Sheriff’s voice sounded from behind him, and Jed’s attention snapped to her. Officer Birde was there, a first-aid kit laid out on a table beside him and tending to the Sheriff’s hand.
The Sheriff sighed. “Quit lookin’ so glum. If it weren’t for the other knife you woulda hit a bullseye.” she said, nodding toward the target. She offered the faintest hint of a smile—something that looked so utterly foreign on her face that Jed nearly couldn’t identify the expression. “Floyd mighta been right about you after all.”
Jed beamed in a way that made him look much more his own age, the tiredness in his eyes fading beneath his smile and reminding the Sheriff that this boy, despite what he’d been through, was truly still just that—a boy. The Sheriff pointed toward the knives on the ground by the target. “Keep practicin’. Just… one at a time for now.”
Jed puffed out his chest and quickly masked his grin with solemn determination. He rushed over to the slab to pull out the Sheriff’s first knife, noticing a newly made dent on the edge of the handle. Proof that he was capable of at least something. He grabbed the handle and yanked the knife free, then went to gather the rest scattered along the ground. Behind him, Sheriff Cash let slip a small chuckle, Jed’s enthusiasm finding the few remaining slivers of her heart that hadn’t long since petrified into cold, uncaring stone.