[The Bronze Woods] Off Target

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 19th, 2013, 3:20 pm

Day 59, Season Spring, 505 AV

Nate checked the bandage on his arm where the scratches from the lynx had dug into his flesh. Despite having been careful to ensure sanitary conditions around the closing wound, Nate was acutely aware that accidents happened, and the last thing he needed was to come down with an infection. His mother had become morose and depressed, ever since his father's death, and Nate had to take on increasing duties around the house. More and more, his sisters turned to him, rather than their mother, when they needed something, and if he got sick, he wasn't sure what would happen to them.

Still, the last week had been extremely difficult for the family. With Nate's injury he hadn't dared do any hunting, and he was even leery of doing any sort of physical activity period for fear of aggravating the scratch. But a week had passed, and their meager funds were quickly running very low. If he didn't bring in something to help sustain the family... no. Nate did not want to consider that option.

Still, his skill with the shortbow was rudimentary at best, and he needed to raise his accuracy with the weapon if he was ever to hit anything with it. There did not seem to be any location in all of Syliras where they would permit someone like him to train, however, and although he would much prefer to do it in the safety of the city, he found himself out in the woods again. At least for the purposes of training he didn't need to venture very far into the forest.

As before, Nate chose a large, broad tree, taking out his Kukri and hacking at the branches, chopping at it with the curved blade until the bark began to peel, then working the edge of the Kukri in until he could pry the bark off the tree. It took him a few chimes, but eventually he was able to get a decently-sized spot of lighter wood, having peeled the bark away from it. He knew this wasn't very good for the tree, but a large oak like this ought to be able to survive what he'd done to it, although exposing the wood beneath the bark did rather expose the tree to infection, much like a cut or otherwise deep wound would do to a person.

Regardless, Nate stepped back, taking a deep breath and raising the bow. Notching the arrow to the string, he raised his right arm holding the bow to the target and set the shoulder, making sure the muscles were not too tense. Once again he was canting the bow slightly to the left. Nate wondered if that might be due to his body automatically compensating for his right-eye dominance. Regardless, he corrected the cant and breathed out again, letting the muscles in his arms and chest get used to the weight of pulling back the shortbow's string. Fortunately, he'd chosen a weapon without very great draw distance. With a longbow, Nate was fairly certain he'd be exhausted just training with the weapon, and then would be useless for hunting later.

Nate eyed the target, trying to decide how to adjust his aim. He needed something to serve as an aim-sight, and decided to use the knuckles on his bow hand. One knuckle up for each estimated yard to the target, he mused, maybe that would work? He aimed a few knuckles up and released the arrow, which curved into the air and back down, sinking into the soil a few feet from the tree. Nate cursed. No, that did not work.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 19th, 2013, 4:08 pm

So the knuckle theory didn't work. Or perhaps it did work, and he just judged the distance wrong. Either way, the results were obvious; his arrow came nowhere close to hitting his target. Though this time, it fell short of the mark rather than sailing off into the distance, which meant if he lowered the angle a bit, it was possible he would still hit. There was really only one way to find out. Having retrieved his arrow from the ground, Nate padded softly back to where he had been standing, and stared at the target for a moment.

Then he notched the arrow and raised the bow again, This time lowering his aim slightly so that the curvature of the arrow's flight would not be so extreme. He still needed a better way to judge distance. The knuckle theory might still hold water, but it would have to be refined if he was going to rely upon it to hit targets further away than a few dozen feet. Aiming carefully, Nate took a breath, then released the arrow with a whoosh of exhalation. It flew across the span in a lazy arc, missing the target and the tree by a good two feet, before landing in the grass behind it. Nate growled in frustration as he stormed over to retrieve the arrow yet again. What the petch? The tree wasn't even moving, if he couldn't hit it at this distance despite a stationary target and no wind, he'd never hit a moving animal attempting to evade his shot.

As he walked past the tree Nate noticed a small gathering of mushrooms near the base of the tree. They were a bruised pink in color, with a flared gilled cap and a small ring flared around its stalk near the cap. He considered the gathering for a while. He knew of an edible mushroom species known as the "Blusher", due to its reddish coloring, but he also knew that they greatly resembled the Amanita mushroom, which was also a parsol-shaped mushroom and one of the deadliest of the poisonous mushrooms.

Nate walked up to take a closer examination of the mushrooms. They had a smooth, waxy appearance, white gills, and a small bulb that was half-buried under the dirt. The smaller mushrooms off to the side of it clearly had not matured yet, as their caps had yet to open, and they rather resembled small puffballs on stems. If Nate remembered correctly, the immature Amanita resembled a puffball, further convincing him harvesting these would not be wise. Best to avoid all parsol-shaped mushrooms, just in case, he decided.

Deciding it was not worth his life to test whether or not these were blushers or Amanitas, Nate strolled past the mushrooms and to his wayward arrow. This was not a foraging session, anyway. Nate knew he needed to hit that target at least a few times before he'd trust himself to go hunting again. It had always been his father who'd make the killing shot when Nate had gone hunting with the man, and while he made shooting the shortbow seem easy, Nate was quickly discovering that aiming properly was not nearly as simple as his father made it look. The first time the shot had fallen short, this time it went long, both times it seems he missed the target completely. Snarling, he stormed to where he'd been standing.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 19th, 2013, 10:16 pm

At least the practice he was doing was good for one thing: Nate found his arms did not get as tired pulling back the string as they did when he first started doing this. He could feel his shoulder muscles strain against the tension of the bow, as he drew back the arrow, making sure not to overdraw and damage his weapon or worse. He'd seen the effects of an overdrawn bow and the results were never pretty. Still, the temptation was there just to pull back as far as he could, and damn the consequences. The anger in his gut over missing the target so many times was roiling and burning, and Nate seethed at the tree as though it was the cause of all his problems.

Lifting his bow arm once again, he set his shoulder, trying to feel the strain in his muscles and gauge how much of this practice he could still do today. If he overworked his muscles, he'd end up too tired when an actual animal came at him, or if he spotted another deer like yesterday. Nate didn't detect too much strain in his shoulders or chest, though, so he took another deep breath, affixing the target in front of him with a baleful glare, and closed his left eye.

As before, he chose his knuckles as an ad-hoc rangefinder. He was convinced the strategy should work, he just needed to find the actual formula that would let him get the range down. One knuckle for every five feet was way too much, but last time he'd fired nearly horizontally and missed by a wide margin. Clearly, there was a magic number in-between that would get him what he wanted. Deciding that the distance between himself and the target was approximately ten feet or so, Nate tried aiming up half a knuckle. Which would make each knuckle 20 feet. Releasing the arrow, he watched it arc toward the target... and fall just a bit short, around three feet or so. The angle was still too steep, but at least it was better than last time.

Nate briefly wondered if there wasn't an easier way to do this. He knew some of the hunters trapped rather than shot, and were able to catch game that way, but Nate was leery of relying on such techniques. He knew that traps had a tendency to get washed away during the spring rains, or get trampled on by larger animals, or even poached from by competing hunters. Not to mention, they had no real guarantee of return; in theory, if Nate become good enough with his short bow, he'd much more likely to land a pelt than if he had to wait for traps to fill, not least of which the issue of actually finding his traps again.

Walking forward thoughtfully, Nate grabbed his arrow from the ground, and decided to check the arrowhead to see if the thing was still viable. As far as he could tell, it was; the arrow didn't seem split or splintered anywhere, despite the abuses he put it through that day. Walking back to where he had been standing before, Nate took a few calming breaths. His anger had subsided somewhat, and he craned his neck a bit, trying to get the kinks out. He couldn't spend all day doing this, but if he didn't hit that target at least twice in a row, then he had no confidence he'd be able to hit anything less than the size of Syliras with his arrows.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 12:30 am

So half a knuckle was not enough. Nate decided he could be shooting this same arrow all day if he continued to incrementally change the estimated distance like this, but he couldn't figure any other way to determine range. His father had only taught him the bare basics of archery before he had died; he never showed Nate the specifics of things such as how to properly aim, or what to use to determine range. So many things he could have learned... Nate had to stop himself, before he went down that route. He could spend bells thinking about what could have been, rather than focusing on what was happening now.

The bow came up with Nate's arm, string taut with the arrow yet again as Nate carefully eyed the target. Up one knuckle, and he shut his left eye and tried to keep his hands steady. One tick, two ticks, and he released, his breath coming out of his lungs in a whoosh as he allowed the arrow to sail across the distance toward the tree... and stuck to it. It did not hit the mark exactly, but it hit the tree at least, near the top of the section he'd cut out. Marching closer, Nate noticed that it in fact "missed", in the sense that it did not hit the white flesh of the tree beneath the bark but rather the rough area above it. Shrugging, he wriggled the arrow loose and walked back.

At least he knew roughly how far upwards to aim in order to hit at certain distances, though he was fairly certain thirty feet was probably the maximum distance he'd be able to hit any target, not unless the target was the size of a city. Nate took his stance once more, glancing at the tree with a thoughtful expression. He realized the practice was making him tired, and he was slouching a bit, so he made sure his back was straight and his shoulders thrown back. It was important to take a proper stance when shooting; improper stances often caused the arrow to miss, or worse go wild. Notching the arrow, he pulled again, this time starting to feel the burn in his muscles as he did so.

Only four arrows, and he wasn't even using a longbow. Nate knew the weakness was due to a week without practice, his left forearm still occasionally ghosting with the ache of the wound it had sustained. But he powered on through; the muscles were tired but not weakened to the degree they couldn't keep working. And after a week of not earning a single Miza, he needed to get something worthwhile today. Preferably many somethings.

Huffing, Nate straightened yet again, belatedly realizing that during his own internal musings he'd inadvertently slouched once again. The target continued to stare back at him silently, almost daring him to hit it with an arrow. Nate once more went up a full knuckle, then back down a tiny bit. He wasn't sure if it was down enough necessarily to hit the target, but he figured that now that he's got the general gist of distance, it was more a matter of practice to get used to just how high to aim the bow. Like dancing or martial arts, it was just a matter of instinct after a while.

Letting the arrow fly, Nate watched as it hit the wood with a solid "thunk". He still hadn't hit the target, but this time it had hit a bit further to the right, and was at least marginally closer by a few inches, if one were being generous. Still, Nate glanced up at Syna's light, which was creeping ever closer to the horizon. Being out in the woods at night was a suicidal prospect, and he still hadn't acquired anything of value out here other than sore muscles. Time to actually hunt.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 1:27 am

The arrow that Nate had so thoroughly abused seemed on its last legs. Nate would not really trust it with his life, but it looked like it could maybe take another shot or two before it either cracked or splintered. Regardless, Nate carried it in his hand rather than returning it to the quiver, as he strode forward looking for game to hunt. His experience a week ago taught him quite a few valuable lessons, but perhaps the most important one was still aching across his chest and arm: never blindly follow the tracks of any dangerous animal.

A bell's worth of searching turned up precious little for Nate to go on. While there were tracks here and there, he wasn't sure of their age, and so he was looking for signs of recent habitation. But the last bell's fruitless search told him that just going about searching for clues was not going to help him at all. He wasn't any more likely to just stumble upon the tracks he was looking for any more than he was to find a needle in a haystack. Unless he knew where in the haystack to start looking.

Deer. He was hunting deer. Nate ruminated over what he knew about the creatures. They were plant-eaters, and seemed to favor the same sort of diet that cows and horses did: grasses. Especially tall, luscious grasses. The area surrounding him was dense forest, the ground covered in short grass and moss, hardly prime feeding area for deer. So he decided to move on a bit, and see if he couldn't find a nice clearing where the grass would be taller and more palatable to them. Deer, as he'd grown to notice, were rather picky eaters.

The clearing wasn't very large when Nate came to it. Just a few dozen feet in every direction, but the canopy of the forest opened up here, and the sunlight flooded in, bathing the soft grass in Syna's glory. The small field was covered in tall green, broken up by the wild blues, yellows, and pinks of the flowers that bloomed in the forest during spring. The entire scene looked like a scene from a painting, and if Nate had been a more artistic sort, he may have wanted to draw or paint this tranquil scene, or at least perhaps compose a poem for it.

As it was, Nate simply looked for someplace he could lay in wait. Ideally, he realized, he would want someplace high. It would have the best vantage point, and give him a bird's eye view of the surrounding area. But he was not his sister Lea, who had spend many bells of her youth climbing buildings to catch better glimpses at the stars. Despite the many attempts of his sister to join her, Nate had never been comfortable with heights. So despite the many tactical advantages climbing one of the trees would have brought, Nate settled for crouching near a particularly dense copse of thorny brush, hoping that the brown of his clothes would camouflage against the brown of the thistles.

It was still midday, and Nate figured that most deer tended to graze during that time, when the sun was highest and visibility best. They tended to get more and more skittish the later in the day it became, so if after two or so bells he did not find anything worth hunting he would give up and pursue other avenues. Taking a few breaths, Nate decided to work on identifying the plants he saw gently bowing in the breeze. A way for him to pass the time while waiting for game to appear.

The soft straight stems and violet whorls of lavender plants were the first that Nathan identified. He smiled as he watched them bending in the wind; the lavender plant had been his friend many times. He collected them occasionally for medicinal purposes; the petals were excellent for treating wounds; like the Yarrow, this particular herb was quite effective at battling infection. In addition, lavender tea was quite good at helping sleep disorders, which had become increasingly frequent with his mother.

Nate's face darkened as he remembered her screams at night, unable to sleep, curled up at the end of her bed, rocking to and fro. Nate never let his sisters see that, always insisting their mother just had a bad dream. He never told them about her refusal to speak afterward, her glassy, unfocused eyes as she took the lavender tea without a word, downing it without any change in her expression. Her body was still there. Nate was sure her soul had already joined his father's.

Nathan's musings were shaken when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Good. He needed the distraction, and he really didn't want to fall into depression while in the wilds; it never helped. This time it looked to be a smaller deer. A doe, by the look of it. It wasn't alone either, it was followed by two more, an adult buck and a fawn right behind them. Nate grinned; the three together presented a very large target, and he hoped to be able to hit at least one of them.

From his position by the mulberry bush he wasn't really in range of the deer as they currently were, and Nate knew that deer didn't like grazing for very long. Grazing was when the animals were at their most vulnerable, so he knew they'd want to finish as soon as possible. Mindful of this, Nate moved up, staying crouched low to the ground, around the bush to the far side, making sure to always keep the grazing deer within his peripheral vision. Once or twice, the buck would raise his head, and the doe would follow, and Nate would freeze, not even daring to breathe. But after a tick or two, the buck lowered his head again, and Nate exhaled. He couldn't guarantee a hit from where he was. He needed to get closer.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 1:37 am

Nate's heart pounded in his chest so loudly he was astonished the deer didn't hear it. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears as he quietly raised his bow, notching the arrow he'd kept in his hand and squeezing shut his left eye, preparing to fire. Nate wanted to target the buck; it was the largest of the three targets and would bring in the most meat and skin. But it was also at a bad angle that only presented its head and shoulders, not its broad flank as he'd preferred.

So instead, Nate targetted the doe, who was grazing lengthwise from Nate and made for a fine target. He took a shaky breath, willing his hands to stop shaking as he brought the bow up. Fortunately, he was able to sneak around to behind the small family of deer, so that they did not have an angle on him as he prepared to fire. Time seemed to crawl to a standstill as he waited one tick, then two. Fire!

Nate watched the arrow sail across the field. He swore he could hear it whistling through the air; although of course, it did nothing of the sort, or the doe would have fled instantly. Nate's eyes remained glued on the path of his arrow as it hit home, and he resisted the urge to whoop. It was not a clean shot; he had missed his mark and struck the animal in the flank, rather than in the chest or ideally the neck, but a hit was a hit. The arrow appeared stuck in the doe's flesh, and it almost brayed in pain and took to its legs, scampering off. The buck and fawn followed suit, but Nate had achieved his goal.

He did not know if the shot had done any severe damage, but as he approached where they had been grazing a moment before, he saw what he wanted to see: blood. The shot had drawn blood, which meant the doe was now less mobile and less likely to be able to run very far before it would try to lick its wounds. Nate pressed forward, stopping every few feet to check the ground to make sure he was still following the trail of blood. Despite the tall grasses, the trail was fairly clear; as he went in the direction he saw the doe scamper off, he made note of the blood not only on the ground, but also the glistening red on some of the stalks of grass it brushed by in its rush to get away.

Nate was in no hurry. The doe was injured now, and he was confident it would stop somewhere up ahead. He just needed to be patient and find it again by the trail it was leaving. Another shot or two, and he'll finally have something to bring home to his sisters.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 2:13 am

Nate thought following a trail of blood would be easy, and at first it was. The doe left a fairly visible trail that he could follow at his leisure for almost thirty feet. But then the blood started to get less, and less, and Nate began to worry. He may have hit the deer in a less vital spot, then, otherwise the blood would be flowing fairly regularly from he injury point. Nate knew from his studies in medicine that a shot that penetrated deep enough to draw blood usually is piercing fat rather than muscle, but there was plenty of both in a deer's flank. If he'd mostly pierced muscle the doe could still get away. Nate swore.

The tracks, at least, were fairly evident as the deer had fled Hei for leather, and had fairly crashed through the underbrush. He could see the deep imprint of its cloven feet as it dashed through the soft, loamy soil and deeper into the forest it called home. Nate heard the soft rustling of something moving up ahead, and he quietly drew another arrow from his quiver and padded forward, eyes searching the area ahead. The thick foliage and large trunks blocked his view, but Nate was sure he had found his quarry. Another good shot, and he should be able to chase down what he was after.

There was a loud rustle, and a familiar keening yowl, and Nate's eyes grew wide. Dashing forward as quickly as he dared, he swung around the trunk of a large elm to find the doe struggling on the ground, legs kicking futilely in the air as the lithe but powerful body of a young cougar pressed on top of it. The cat had its jaws around the doe's neck, and the deer below it struggled mightily to break free. Nate cursed. The stupid cat must have smelled the blood from the wound and pounced on his kill first.

The doe's strained cries grew into gurgling as its struggles weakened, and Nate realized he didn't have much time. If he wanted to preserve anything from this aborted hunt he needed to act now. Without a sound, he notched the arrow he'd already drawn, and brought up the bow. It was becoming more natural now, this motion, and Nate barely had to think as he judged the distance and aimed. The doe had completely ceased all movement; its pink tongue lolling out of is open mouth and eyes still wide open as though forever reliving its last agonizing moments. The cougar had retreated slightly to begin the work of stripping the now-carcass of meat. Nate took a breath and sighted. One tick. Two.

The arrow sang across the field, passing mere inches from the cougar's tawny pelt and coming to rest just beyond it. The cat looked up from its kill and hissed angrily, snarling at Nate for interrupting its meal. Nate immediately drew another arrow and quickly aimed again. The cougar gave a strangled cry as it pushed off the doe, but did not back off. Clearly, it intended to defend its kill, and Nate fully intended to give the stupid cat the fight it so clearly wanted. However, this time, unlike the time, when a lynx had given him the scars he still bore, it was not an ambush situation. This time, he knew exactly where the cougar was, and was well prepared to defend himself. Or so he told himself.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 2:29 am

Nate's heart was still pounding, but this time instead of anticipation it was beating in fear. He was sure the mangy animal could sense it, could smell it, and he could swear the cat was grinning at him as it padded softly to the left, as he circled to the right. The short bow string was still taut, and the arrow still poised to fire, but Nate hesitated. He'd never hit a moving target before; he had trouble enough hitting a stationary one. He did not know if, while circling like this, he could hit the cougar, and right after firing would be when he'd be most vulnerable to the cougar leaping for his throat.

This standoff continued for almost a chime, neither side giving in, until Nate decided that hanging around a fresh kill was never a good idea. It was too late to back off; running now would just ensure he died tired. The cat was still circling to the left, its gaze locked to his, and Nate decided to lead his target, aiming slightly in front of the cougar, and then releasing his arrow. But, somehow, whether through luck or providence or perhaps that strange instincts animals sometimes have, the cougar leapt back at the last possible tick, and the arrow sailed harmlessly into the grass in front of it. Nate growled low, sounding almost like the cougar itself.

Reaching into his belt, Nathan pulled out his Kukri, temporarily dropping his bow behind him. At these close quarters, the curved knife was a better weapon anyway, and he'd already missed twice. He didn't have that many arrows to start with and he couldn't afford to waste any more of them if he couldn't be sure they would hit. Nate's head buzzed with anger and frustration. It was threatening to boil over, and glaring at the bared fangs of the cougar opposing him, he snarled right back at it.

"Come on, you mangey animal!" he fairly screamed at it, waving his arms about. If anyone had seen him they might have laughed, but Nate just didn't care anymore. He stomped the ground with his foot and waved the Kukri in front of him, slashing in the air just a few feet from the cougar's nose. "You want me? You want me?! Come get me!"

It felt good to just let loose. All the frustrations of the last week flooding through him and out at the animal, and Nate just snarled and bared his teeth, not even caring that he was facing a dangerous animal. He didn't have much in the way of defending himself, honestly; he wasn't really all that skilled with the kukri in his hands. But the cougar apparently decided that the doe wasn't worth fighting Nate over, and with a final hiss, turned tail and fled into the underbrush.

Nate collapsed to his knees, as though he were a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut. He suddenly felt very tired, like he'd just ran several miles nonstop. His heart wouldn't stop pounding in his chest and for the longest time he sat there on his knees, breathing in the air and letting his frayed emotions finally calm down. Finally, after Nate had achieved a measure of calm, he turned. Staring down at the doe, Nate decided perhaps there might be something he could save. It seemed a shame to just leave it there. With a sigh, Nate turned to the creature and tried to see what parts of it could be preserved.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 2:48 am

The side of the doe's neck had been torn open by the cougar's jaws, and its left flank bore the brunt of the claws of the enraged cat. Nate did not feel the pelt from that side of the animal was really worth preserving; not that he was necessarily all that good at skinning to begin with. Fortunately, the kill was still extremely fresh, and Nate mused perhaps the hide from the other side of the doe might still be worth something. The weight of the deer surprised even Nate and it took the better part of ten chimes, and a bit of strain on his muscles, before he was finally able to turn it all the way over, the heavy body making a very loud thud as it hit the forest floor.

The pelt of the doe looked relatively unharmed on this side, and Nate decided to try to preserve as much of it as he could to sell back in Syliras. Half a pelt was not the best start, but it was certainly better than nothing, and Nate was determined to make the best of things. Hefting the heavy-ended kukri, Nate made a clean incision down the chest of the doe, not even noticing the sickeningly sweet scent of blood flooding the air as he did so. As both a hunter and a doctor, he'd been around blood enough to no longer be fazed by it.

Pushing the curved edge of the Kukri under the skin, between the hide of the doe and the fat, Nate began a light sawing motion, tugging slightly at the skin and slowly working his way around the side of the animal. It was not like peeling the skin off a banana. Skinning an animal was something he'd only watched his father doing, but had never actually done himself. Not that it mattered; Nate was quite sure that even if he had done it personally, it would have been so long ago he'd have long forgotten the details.

The pelt was not coming off in an even fashion, however. Nate just couldn't keep the Kukri's blade straight with the direction the pelt was peeling off the flesh, and after nearly a bell, he could see that Syna had already begun to sink past the canopy line. The sky was taking on the reddish overtones of twilight, and pretty soon night would fall. Looking down, he grimaced at the half-skinned animal. He'd barely recovered a quarter of the pelt, and what he had recovered was barely worth anything. Maybe a single silver Miza, if he were lucky.

Nate sighed. It was better than nothing. He'd just have to come out here tomorrow and see if he couldn't find more game to hunt. With the death of this doe, however, he doubted he'd get much deer in the coming days, the other deer would become quite skittish of the region at least temporarily. He briefly wondered if he should risk trying to bring back some of the deer meat, but he had no way to preserve it for the journey back, and spoiled meat did not sell. At all.

Nate really wanted to bury the kill; the smell of fresh meat would undoubtedly attract predators and probably already had, but he had no tools with which to do so. Deciding to simply vacate the area as soon as possible, Nate picked up what pelts he'd managed to harvest, and headed back home. As he passed by the small field where he'd first spotted the small family of deer, Nate paused for a moment, lips pursed. Lavender...

Reaching down, Nate quickly grasped the stems of a small bunch of lavender plants, and with a sweep of his kukri, chopped the stems smoothly off near the root. He repeated this action two or three times, always taking care to keep the sharp, curved blade of his weapon away from his fingers as he harvested the plant. Lately, his mother's nightmares had been getting steadily worse. He didn't know how much longer simple lavender tea would be enough. He didn't know how much longer anything would be enough. But it was all he could do. With a sigh, Nate stuffed the gathered herbs into his rucksack, and trudged his way back home.

~Fin~

by **Radiant** on October 20th, 2013, 5:14 am

Nathaniel :

Notes :

My radiance is not bright enough?

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, beam me a PM and we can work it out.

Skill	XP Earned
Observation	+3 XP
Weapon: Shortbow	+4 XP
Wilderness Survival	+1 XP
Tactics	+1 XP
Hunting	+2 XP
Botany	+1 XP
Tracking	+1 XP
Intimidation	+1 XP

Completed [The Bronze Woods] Off Target