"You're a terrible teacher," Eris stated, her voice as dry as the permafrost under her boots.
Soren let out a sound of genuine offense, his hand dropping from her shoulder as if he'd been burned. "What? You just hit the perfect center! The arrow is practically vibrating with the precision of my tutelage!"
"I hit the center despite you, not because of you," Eris countered, turning to face him. She adjusted the leather bracer on her forearm, her movements crisp and dismissive. "Your 'instruction' was little more than you groping me with words, Soren. It was distracting at best and a liability at worst."
Soren's eyes widened, his blue irises shimmering with indignant light. "I was being professional! Archery is a full-body discipline. If the alignment is off by a hair's breadth, the shot is wasted."
"You were breathing in my ear like a creep," she said, her deadpan delivery acting like a bucket of ice water over his ego.
