Cupid's Arrow

Being supervised like an errant child didn't bother the waif nearly as much as it might have in years past, and instead he was simply eager to be out of the borders at all. Mingling with a crowd was where he thrived, and the press of bodies was invigorating. It felt like the markets that took over the town square near his childhood home, and there was a lingering nostalgia in the back of his mind that he clung to with fervent desperation. A crooning call caught his attention amidst the sounds of dozens of other voices, the bemused drawling tone being what caught his attention the most. There was a pale furred canine leaning over the counter of a booth, drawing a crowd with the promise of prizes awarded purely out of skill.  

Sauntering closer, seafoam eyes caught the glint of projectiles as they whirred through the air and burst balloons stuck to a board. That seemed right up his alley, in all honesty. A curious trill sounded in his throat, barely audible to anyone nearby. Dark banner sweeping across his heels, he idled amongst the assembled crowd and watched everyone take their turn. When the flamboyant coydog beckoned him forth, the dainty male surveyed the choice of darts laid out before him. Oh, look at the pale blue of those feathers. Perfect. Slipping the middle of the dark between his toes, with the point facing outwards between his knuckles, he braced his forepaws on the edge of the counter. He lifted the dart, dropped his wrist and then flicked it upwards. On the upwards arc, he released his grip and let the dart fly. Off towards the board it sailed, but would it hit its mark?

"speech"