Women are the Bows, Men are the Hunters
Women are the bow. They're curved, strung with care. They know they're beautiful, but it can get lonely...they have this string...and they know it's there for a really good reason, but they can't reach it themselves. The Hunter can't help looking at this creation and knowing she's constructed for one thing in particular.
Men are the hunters, they love weapons, love the chase, love the hunt, love the stories around the campfire, especially if they're whispered in awe and have his name in it. They love to talk about the hunt, tell tall tales and be a Hunter of Stature among the Hunters that sit and tell stories and listen.
Okay, so there's the archetype of Aragorn from The Lord of The Rings. He's a ranger, he's competent, he's quietly mythic and can kick the hell out of things without making a sound. He's dirty and he has wide shoulders. You know this man loves his bow. You know he carved it out of some mystic wood that an overheated dryad just laid down at his feet to try to get his attention.
This bow is never out of arm's reach. This bow is the difference between victory on the hunt and having to eat berries for dinner. He would never use another bow. He makes his own arrows, polishes her wood and keeps her dry in the rain, probably sings and knows his bow is listening. He's not afraid of poetry or pain and has had lots of both.
He has a sword, but that's for battle. For the hunt, he just loves his hands on a bow and understands that partnership, that need, to have something so beautifully made. He knows every inch of that bow and is able to trace his history along the carvings and runes he's added and the nicks she's gotten from the rough battles where he almost died and she almost shattered. He knows exactly how far he can pull her strings so his arm is straining and she's about to snap
So that's the ideal, right? Man knows the value of his woman, cares for her, spends time with her, loves her. They're both fulfilling their purpose and happy with it. Of course there are other bows. But this is HIS bow. His blood has glossed the wood, she fits him.
Of course any bow in his hands would look good, but he's stopped worrying about whether or not the bow's image suits him. He focuses on the hunt itself. It's not about the hunter or the bow any more, it's about their experiences in the Forest and the stories he can tell at the end of the day.
The Basics:
A bow is a beautiful thing, curves and the promise of kinetic power. The potential to direct so much force if the hunter has the skill to pull back, back, back...hold it...find the target...let go at exactly the right moment. It's not necessary to never miss, but the bow would be lying if she said it never matters. She knows what she's made for, she's beautiful, and abhors the hands of the incompetent and disrespectful on her curves.
She does not want any arrow to be nocked on her without careful planning and concentration. She honors speed and agility as well as strength and force. She thrills to taking on new challenges and watching her Hunter become better at something and enjoy what he's already good at. Weaknesses are to be overcome, not evaded.
She hates half-assed Hunters who never look where they're going and bitch about how the Forest is out to get them all the time. The kind of moron who keeps napping in poison ivy, never noticing the shiny leaves and complaining every day about how the Forest did it. The kind of idiot that leaves her out in the rain until she warps.
Silence and competence are Golden. She is a sacred weapon that allows her Hunter the distance, speed and accuracy that can bring down things that he could never get close enough to on his own, and might kill him if he tried. She's happiest when her string vibrates a lot.
The Hunter is a beautiful thing, hunger and motivation. He knows the joy of eating meat with his fingers after choosing the right prey, crafting his arrows with care and using his bow with an economy of alternating stealthy grace and explosive force. His favorite places are wide open, he knows the moon and the stars, the sun, the dawn and the twilight and he would rather sleep on the ground and feel the pulse of the earth than be inside.
Except when it's pouring. I mean, he's not stupid, just elemental. He's happiest when he knows he is the guardian of all he surveys, that he has control over every aspect of life that he has encountered, or at least controls his fears about them. He is bereft without a challenge. He has learned respect for the wild. He has a hunger for the lessons and the challenges the Forest holds for him every day.
Commonly Encountered Bow Types:
The Titanium Bow:
Unbeknownst to our Hunter, the bow has gotten herself dipped in titanium-reinforced concrete. He's a Hunter, so he's up for a challenge. But he's a human without benefit of a Mech suit, which is the only way this would be fair. He can't pull back on her string, he can try until he strains something. She did the whole titanium thing for this one moment, so she can say:
"You're pathetic. You're so weak. You couldn't possibly ever hit anything with your shitty aim. Loser. I don't know why I tolerate you, you don't deserve me. Lick my boot and like it, you're my bitch."
