Word Count: 100
Source: LotR, sort of.
Disclaimer: Tolkien thought him up, I just like to play with him.
Author's Note: I thought I'd repost a very old drabble, because it fits the challenge, and I'm both cheeky and the mod, so I can get away with it. One of my earliest drabbles/LotR fics, written eighteen months ago - hard to believe I've only been doing this a little over eighteen months - it seems like I've been writing about these characters forever. Oh, and it was the first of a small drabble series.
The boy's jaw was set as he began to draw the bowstring back, one eye tightly closed to focus on his target.
The string bit into his small, pink fingers, already callused from hours of practice. His breathing slowed to steady his hand, and he released.
The arrow whistled from the string and struck it's mark a hundred yards away.
He turned to his delighted young companions, one hand on his hip, a self-satisfied grin splitting his face.
Their tutor, stern faced and green clad, frowned down at the young archer reproachfully.
"Pride is unbecoming an elf, Master Legolas."