Afternoon sun filtered through a thicket near Hastinapura, its golden rays piercing a dense canopy of twisted trees and jagged rocks. Shadows dappled the ground, a patchwork of light and dark over tangled roots and mossy stones, while wooden targets—small discs painted red—hid behind trunks and boulders, their edges just out of sight. The air was warm and still, thick with the scent of pine and earth, a quiet maze buzzing with the faint hum of insects, ready to challenge the princes' skill in new ways.
Drona stood at the thicket's edge, his lean frame steady in the dappled light, his tattered white robes catching faint glints of sun. His gray hair was tied back, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, curious fire as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip resting on a root; the other gestured toward the hidden targets, open and calm. The princes gathered around him, their tunics snagged with twigs from the trek, their bows in hand as they squinted into the shadowy maze.
Bhima stomped forward, his massive frame shaking the underbrush, his broad grin flashing wide as he slapped his bow against his palm. "A thicket today, guru?" he said, his voice booming through the trees, startling a bird into flight. "This is a good one! Targets behind stuff, huh? We smashing through or what?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the quiet with steady force. "No smashing, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, hushing the thicket for a moment. "Precision. The targets are hidden—behind trees, rocks. Hit them clean. Straight shots won't do. Find a way."
Bhima's grin widened, his eyes lighting up as he cracked his knuckles with a loud pop. "Hidden, huh?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. "I'll blast right through! Trees or not, they're mine!"
"Blast less, aim more," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, pointing into the thicket. "One shot each at a time. Start when I call."
Arjuna stepped closer, his lean form quiet and graceful, his sandals silent on the moss as he gripped his bow. His tunic shimmered with sweat, his breath steady, and his dark eyes scanned the trees with a calm intensity. "Hidden targets," he said, his voice soft but thrilled, glancing at Drona. "This is different, guru. How many?"
"Five," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Tucked away. Use your wits. They're tricky."
Duryodhana strode up beside him, his chin high, his dark hair catching the sun's rays as he gripped his bow tight. "Tricky?" he said, his voice low and edged with a smirk, his brow lifting slightly. "Good. I've got something for this. Watch me."
"Show it, then," Drona replied, his tone stern and curious, meeting Duryodhana's smirk with a nod. "All of you, spread out."
Ashwatthama slipped forward, his wild hair glinting in the light, his eyes bright with a knowing spark as he nocked an arrow. "This'll be fun," he said, his voice low and eager, glancing at Duryodhana with a faint grin. "Let's see them jump."
The princes fanned out, their footsteps rustling the leaves, the thicket a web of shadows and obstacles as they took their places. Bhima lumbered ahead, his massive hands drawing his bow as he peered through the trees. "Right, here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, snapping a twig underfoot. He aimed at a flicker of red behind a trunk, his muscles bulging, and fired with a grunt. The arrow thudded straight into the tree, missing the target by a foot, and he laughed, shaking his head. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright and unbothered. "That tree's tougher than I thought! Next one!"
"Angle it, Bhima," Drona called, his voice steady and firm, stepping closer. "Straight won't work here."
"Angle?" Bhima said, chuckling as he nocked another arrow, spinning around. "I'll angle it through the whole forest!" He fired again, the arrow smashing into a rock with a loud crack, and he flopped onto a stump, laughing loud. "This is a riot! I'm hitting everything but the targets!"
"Everything's not the goal," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, shaking his head. "Targets are. Sit there."
Duryodhana stood tall, his bow drawn, his smirk sharp as he eyed a disc tucked behind a boulder. "Time to show you," he murmured, his voice low and sly, adjusting his stance. He twisted his wrist, loosing the arrow with a flick, and it arced through the air, bending around the rock to strike the target with a clean thud. He straightened, his grin widening, and turned to Drona. "One," he said, his tone smug and sharp, brushing dust from his hands.
Drona's eyes widened, his voice warm with surprise as he stepped forward. "One?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, a rare crack in his calm. "A curved shot? Where'd you learn that, Duryodhana?"
"Practiced," Duryodhana said, his smirk growing, his voice low and proud. "With Ashwatthama. Nights in the yard. It's mine now."
Ashwatthama grinned nearby, his bow steady, his wild hair swaying as he aimed at another hidden disc. "My idea," he said, his voice low and fierce, loosing his shot. The arrow curved around a tree, hitting its mark with a thud, and he nodded. "One," he said, his tone sharp and pleased, glancing at Duryodhana. "Told you it'd work."
"Good," Drona said, his pride clear, his staff tapping the ground. "Both of you. Strong work."
Arjuna watched from a few paces away, his bow drawn, his breath slow and even as he studied Duryodhana's shot. "Curved," he murmured, his voice soft and curious, tilting his head. He aimed at a disc behind a trunk, adjusting his grip, and fired. The arrow flew straight, thudding into the tree, and he frowned, nocking another. "Got to learn that," he said, his tone steady and determined, loosing again. This time, it grazed the target's edge, and he smiled faintly, turning to Drona. "Almost," he said, his voice calm and sure.
"Close," Drona said, his voice warm and firm, nodding at him. "Watch them, Arjuna. You'll get it."
The thicket buzzed with their efforts, the air thick with the whistle of arrows and the rustle of leaves—Bhima's loud misses, Duryodhana's sly curves, Ashwatthama's fierce echoes, Arjuna's steady tries. Bhima stomped back toward Drona, his tunic snagged with twigs, his laugh booming as he waved his bow. "Nothing yet, guru!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, wiping sweat from his brow. "But I've dented every tree! That's a score, right?"
"No," Drona said, his tone dry but patient, gesturing him to sit. "Targets, Bhima. Watch now."
Duryodhana struck two more discs, his arrows arcing perfectly around obstacles, his smirk sharp as he strode back. "Three," he said, his voice low and triumphant, crossing his arms. "See that? No one's topping this today."
"Three's strong," Drona said, his tone stern and approving, stepping closer. "Well earned, Duryodhana."
Ashwatthama hit another, his shot curving around a rock with a clean thud, and he grinned, his eyes flicking to Duryodhana. "Two," he said, his voice low and fierce, nocking again. "We've got this."
"Partners, huh?" Drona said, his voice warm and steady, nodding at his son. "Good teamwork."
Arjuna fired again, his arrow bending slightly this time, striking a disc with a soft thud, and he smiled wider, stepping back to Drona. "One," he said, his voice soft and pleased, brushing his hands together. "It's tricky, but I'm learning."
"You are," Drona said, his pride clear, clapping Arjuna's shoulder. "Fast, too. Keep at it."
Bhima leaned back on his stump, his chest heaving, his grin wide as he watched. "Curved shots?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the heat. "That's fancy! Mine just go boom and miss! You're all too clever for me!"
"Clever wins," Drona replied, his tone dry and amused, shaking his head. "You'll catch up."
Duryodhana crossed his arms tighter, his scowl faint but his smirk holding as he glanced at Arjuna. "One's a start," he said, his voice low and sharp, his eyes narrowing. "But three's the mark. I've got the edge now."
"Edge today," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, meeting Duryodhana's gaze with a smile. "I'll catch it tomorrow. Nice trick."
"Trick?" Duryodhana said, his smirk sharpening, his tone sly and edged. "Skill, not trick. You'll see more."
Ashwatthama stepped up beside him, his bow lowered, his tone low and fierce. "We've been at it weeks," he said, his eyes glinting with loyalty. "He's got it down. I'll back him."
"Strong backing," Drona said, his voice warm and firm, nodding at them both. "It's paying off."
The sun sank lower, the thicket glowing gold with its fading light, and Drona called them in, the shadows stretching long across the earth. "Enough," he said, his voice ringing clear, his staff tapping once, twice. "Duryodhana, three hits, curved and clean. Ashwatthama, two. Arjuna, one. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he brushed dirt from his tunic. "None's my tally!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the loudest misses! That's my prize, huh?"
"Misses don't win," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, shaking his head. "Hits do. You'll learn."
Arjuna set his bow down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet. "That curve's something, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, glancing at Duryodhana. "I'll figure it out."
"You will," Drona replied, his pride clear, nodding at him. "You always do, Arjuna."
Duryodhana smirked wider, his voice low and sharp as he brushed past. "Figure it fast," he said, his tone sly and challenging, his eyes glinting. "I'm not waiting."
"Neither am I," Arjuna said, his voice calm and teasing, a spark of determination in his smile. "See you at it."
Ashwatthama clapped Duryodhana's shoulder, his grin fierce and loyal. "Three's a start," he said, his voice low and bright, falling in step. "We'll push it higher."