If Percvale went to war, and he was increasingly certain it would, at some point, whether Valdenmoor pushed it or someone else did, then improvised ranged capacity wasn't going to be enough.
You needed archers. Actual ones, trained ones, people who could hit a moving target at distance under pressure and do it consistently.
He thought about the two thousand people in Percvale.
Somewhere in two thousand people there were individuals who could shoot. Maybe they had been doing it for years, hunting, just keeping the skill to themselves because nobody had ever given them a context for it to matter.
Or maybe that opportunity had presented itself but then, Percvale had been a death stricken place weeks ago when he first arrived, a place seemingly without any hope of things actually getting better.
