"You should have seen me the first time, with the throwing daggers I was training with. I'd been aiming for a dummy...instead, my throw went wide and I punctured the tires of one of my dad's favourite cars." It had been an early model Batmobile. Bruce hadn't been all that excited with her. She had improved, though. Just as she would improve here.

Helena nods and chooses another arrow, once again nocking it, pulling the string back, and aiming. She waits, focuses on the dummy, and looses the arrow. She doesn't get a bullseye...but she does get the torso. A few inches to the left, and it would have been a perfect hit.

"I don't get how Robin Hood does it," she half-whispers. Sure, he probably isn't real, but Helena had grown up idolizing the hero much like how her father had grown up idolizing Zorro. After all, Robin Hood was a thief, like her mother, and a hero, like her father.

What wasn't to love?

"Practice makes perfect," she says. "I'll get good at this, sooner or later."