There was a villager in Emberwood called Holtz, who was a master with the bow. He could shoot rats from across a field and never scored less than a bullseye whenever he aimed for an archery target. Yet he had no desire for warfare, and no matter the words of encouragement from the captain, he would never join the guard.
For him, archery was a passion, an art, never to be used against another person. A stance quickly forgotten by his shambling corpse.