The silence after a shot is louder than the shot

I was watching a kid on the range today—first time at prone, trembling like a leaf. He fired, missed wide left. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, eyes closed, breathing slow. And in that pause—the quiet between breaths—I swear I heard something. Not a sound, but a weight. Like the air itself held its breath. That’s what we’re training for, really. Not perfect scores. Not even clean legs. But the courage to stand in the silence after you’ve failed and not run.