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"LOWER YOUR SHOULDERS. RELAX YOUR MUSCLES - YOUR TENSION WILL RUIN THE SHOT."
Carl held the knife, nervously above his shoulder and tried his best to relax his muscles as he took aim at the tree. Ophelia had marked it with a target, carving a big 'X' on the trunk for him to try and hit. She advised him to try and focus on hitting the tree first, rather than diving in deep and aiming for bullseye so quickly. It had paid of - taking it slow, he'd hit the tree a couple of times, but now his nerves were beginning to unravel, and the knife would fly all over the place.
"I can't do it!" The boy huffed as the knife he threw landed in the ground.
"You can." Ophelia assured him, picking up the knife he'd thrown. "You have to be patient with yourself, kid. Rome wasn't built in a day. Now, try again. But, this time put more strength into it."
Ophelia then handed him the knife and he tried again. It didn't hit the tree, but it did hit the tree next to it. The girl applauded him, and told him to do it again, and again, and again — he eventually hit the tree as he had the first couple of times before his nerves got to him, and he jumped up and down, squealing with pride.
"Well done, kid." The girl smiled, yanking the knife out of the tree. "You'll be getting bullseye in no time. But, I think that's enough for today. We should probably head home if we wanna be back in time."
"Okay." Carl smiled. "Thank you for doing this, Ophelia, I appreciate it, you going out of your way to teach me this important lesson."
Ophelia snorted. "I can read you like an open book, Grimes. Those are your dads words — anyways, don't thank me. Just make sure you don't get yourself killed, that's all the thanks I need."
"Underneath that tough act, you're just a big softy aren't you?" Carl giggled. "You're nicer than everyone says you are."
"If you say so, bud." Ophelia replied, playfully rolling her eyes. "Come on, quit dilly dallying before you're mom realises you're gone."
The two kept pushing forwards until the farm was insight, when they heard a branch snap behind them. It was followed by a snarling sound, and Ophelia hissed, "walkers." She pushed Carl behind her and pulled the out her knife — it was only the one, so she very easily threw her blade through the air and into the creatures skull. Bullseye.
She then walked over to the walker and retrieved her knife covered in blood and walker goo. "That is gross as shit." She noted, before wiping it on the dead corpse and stuffing it back into her pocket. Carl beamed, "That was awesome!"
"You'll be able to do that one day." She said, walking back to the farm and Carl trailing behind. "Believe me, I would know. It took me months to master it. It would have taken longer, if it wasn't for my father. He made me practice and practice and every time I'd miss he'd —" she paused.
"He'd what?" Carl asked, curiously.
"It doesn't matter."' Ophelia replied, quickly. Sweeping her comment under the rug and abruptly changing the subject. "Anyways, you just gotta keep trying. Remember, 'he who jumps for the moon and gets it not leaps higher than he who stoops for a penny in the mud.'"
❦ ❦ ❦
"I MUST SAY — I'M PLEASANTLY SURPRISED." Hershel said, unraveling the bandage wrapped around Ophelia's torso, surprised to see all her stitches intact and together. "Your brother told me that you weren't very good at staying still. He thought you might pop a stitch or two."
"My brother says a lot of things." Ophelia shrugged. "I normally take it with a grain of salt."
"Well, fair enough." Hershel chuckled, applying a small cloth to the wound and giving it a quick clean, before he prepared to remove the stitching. "He seems like a pleasant, young man, though. He cares for you very much — anyone can see that."
"He's one of the good guys." Ophelia nodded, smiling. "Even before this whole thing, he's kept me grounded. I'm lucky to have him."
The grey haired man then began to remove her stitches and Ophelia rested her head against the pillow behind her as he did. "Ah, luck is a fickle thing, isn't it? I have to admit, I thank the heavens above every day for all they've given me ; my children, my farm, my very breath. Looking back to when I was a young boy, I think myself very lucky man."
"It's strange how lucky you feel in an apocalypse." Ophelia noted and then seethed her teeth. "Is this nearly finished? If we're gonna talk about this shit any longer I'm going to need a drink — a strong one preferably."
She then added. "Sorry, doc. I forgot you were a man of faith. My bad."
Hershel didn't seem to mind very much, rather he stood up of her chair and smiled at her kindly. "That won't be necessary. I've removed your stitches successfully — I just need to find some gauze for you and then we're pretty much finished up here.
"I suppose you'll be able to stay somewhere else now that you're better." Hershel said, softly. "As pleasant as it's been having you stay in here, with the rate your people are injuring themselves, it's likely someone else will soon need this room."
Shit, Ophelia thought, she hadn't thought of where she was going to stay after her stitches had been removed. Her options were limited ; there was the Grimes tent — that would be unlikely, they had limited space — then there was Daryl's tent which had a spare sleeping bag that Merle had used — that was a no, Daryl liked being left alone — then there was the RV — which, she supposed would have to do, the only issue was that it was pretty cramped, Dale, Glenn, Andrea and Griffin all stayed there. Still, she'd figure something out. She always did.
"Thanks for the check up, Doc." Ophelia sighed, sitting herself up on the bed and offering him a small smile. "Hopefully I won't be needing your assistance again anytime soon."
