Solo Work, Play Or Just Annoying?

[Telrin]

56th of fall, 513 a.v

Telrin was a shoddy shot. He really was.

The hare let out a surprised squeak as the arrow thudded into the tree beside it, scampering off into the underbrush before the boy had any hope of loosing another arrow after it. He sighed irritably and went to retrieve the unfaithful projectile, careful in its removal so as to keep the head secure and undamaged.

He had never met an archer as bad as he himself was. Granted, he hadn’t met a great many archers aside from the few that had taught him, but that was beside the point. He missed more times than he struck, and it was a constant irritation that harrowed him day after day. He needed to improve, and that was a fact; having the ability to hunt was all well and good, but it meant nothing without the means.

He returned the arrow to his quiver and turned to go deeper into the foliage; silent lamentations did nothing to fill his stomach nor his pocket, and he had no intention of returning to his camp empty-handed. He was a stubborn creature, one that would wait in the crook of a tree all night if he had to.

The sun was at her peak, doing her best to beat at the forest floor but not managing anything more than a comfortable warmth. The canopy filtered the majority of light into countless shafts that danced over the leaves, teased by the wind that plucked at the trees like a harper until they rattled like music. It was a nice day, not summer but warm enough for Telrin to feel at ease, even with only an open vest on his shoulders. Even then, however, he could still feel the cool breeze that both kept him from sweating and promised the leaner, colder season that was still to come. It was the season of bounty, yes, but also the herald of hunger and chill, of quietness and long nights spent in silence.

He turned away from such thoughts as he came across a small brook, though they did not vanish entirely. The were important thoughts, after all, reminding him that this time would not last forever and that he had to plan for winter. That he had to improve.

That he had to take down something before the sun went down.

[Telrin]

He paused when his eyes caught on the familiar sight of a slippery elm. Altering course, Telrin approached the tree, unsheathed his knife and deftly slit the trunk, peeling back the outer layer to get at the inner bark. He stripped at it, and after a minute or so came away with a handful of long fibers. He’d eaten slippery elm before, and though alone it was rather tasteless he also knew that elm bark cooked with meat would come to taste like meat itself. And if not eaten, it could still be used to weave strings and cords, even a bowstring if he was very desperate. And it was with this brightening his mind that he tucked the strips of elm into the pouch at his belt for whatever he might need them for in the future.

The boy followed the brook upstream, as that was where the wind was coming from and he didn’t want his scent to warn any animals that he might happen across. He nocked an arrow, but kept his grip loose. He would draw if he saw quarry, but otherwise there was no need to tire himself out by holding it poised. The weapon was large and clunky in his hands, and he was barely strong enough to pull the string properly, but it was not nearly as bad as he had been two or even a single season ago. He was learning the weapon, slowly but surely, and he prayed that his learning streak would continue.

A large hole in the brush caught his attention, and he turned to it curiously. A hoofed animal, for sure, and due to the size and shape Telrin resolved that it had to be a deer. It was very fresh, near as he could tell, and so it was with wariness that the boy slipped after the trail.

There were prints in the soil, but it was easier to follow the bent grass and twigs than to bend over and look at the ground. The earth was damp beneath his feet, quieting his already soft moccasins so that they made almost no sound at all. The rest of his body, however, was a different matter; Telrin tried his best to avoid the foliage around him, but couldn’t help the snaps and crackles of his passage. If he was bad with a bow, he was even worse at being stealthy; all he could do was hope that his quarry was distracted when he arrived.

[Telrin]

It wasn’t any specific sign that gave the young hunter a feeling of nearness; his gut told him he was close, and so, without anything more tangible to go on, Telrin became slower and more cautious. He ended up spending more energy weaving from side to side than his did going forward in an attempt to evade the persistent branches that grabbed for his person, making his progress painfully slow. But he found his reward, however, in the snapping sounds of another’s passing. Another creature, as large as he was if not larger, was moving ahead. Telrin drew his bow, arm trembling with effort, and leveled the arrow in the direction of disturbance.

Hold.

Breathe.

Fly.

The string thwacked against his bracer, sending the arrow sailing into the brush. Telrin’s heart rose as he was rewarded with the satisfying thunk of steel sinking into flesh and the pained cry of whatever had been struck. He had hit it. By Lhex and all his luck, he had hit it!

His elation was short-lived, however, when the wounded deer exploded from its hiding place, sending the boy stumbling back. The arrow was lodged in its flank, rendering one hind leg useless, but it was by no means a fatal blow. The deer shied away from the boy, then wheeled clumsily and plunged away, taking his arrow with it.

Telrin was left, dumbfounded, to stare after the creature as it bounded out of sight. As quickly as it had risen, his mood plummeted. He had no hope of catching a fleeing deer, even a wounded one, and now he had lost an arrow. He opened and closed his mouth several times in sheer disbelief; his hopes had flown so high, it had almost felt violent when they were struck down.

His grip tightened on his bow until his knuckles turned white. Twice, that was twice today he’d shot and missed quarry, and now he didn’t even have an arrow to retrieve. He would have kicked something had his shoes not been too soft.

He needed to improve. The thought hit him like a sledgehammer, filling him with fiery determination. He turned away from the trail, scanning his surroundings with narrowed eyes.

There, a tree had fallen over some years ago, supported by its neighbors so it didn’t quite touch the ground. Moss covered the trunk; the wood would be soft and easy to pull arrows from. And by the gods, he was going to shoot it.

[Telrin]

He squared his shoulders. One foot was pointed towards his target, the other off to the side, forming a V-stance that kept him solid and stable. He sighted the five or so yards between him and the tree, judging the distance and how much power would be behind the arrow. Finally, with a glare to unnerve even the bravest of wolves, the boy drew his bow. It was difficult, and his arm shook with effort, but his body held. He slid his gaze over the length of the arrowshaft and found a dark knot on the trunk’s midsection.

Hold.

Breathe.

Fly.

The air whistled at the thing’s passage. It soared, arced towards its target––

––and completely missed. It fell off to the right, over the base of the trunk and landed in a nearby bush.

Telrin took a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm. He would try again.

Slowly, deliberately, the twelve-year-old traveled to the arrow’s resting place and retrieved it. He pulled the dirt from its head and tucked it snugly back into his quiver, then returned to the place from which it had been shot. He took up the same stance, made it an inch or so wider, and tugged a new arrow to the bow. He took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes and drew.

Hold.

Breathe.

Fly.

[Telrin]

Splinters of rotted wood flicked into the open air as the arrow struck the log, biting both vicious and deep. For a moment, Telrin simply stood there, staring. Then, slowly but surely, a subtle smile began to creep across his face. His spine was just a little straighter as he meandered on up to the half-fallen tree, examining the wound he had inflicted. The arrow had missed the knot he had been aiming for, but only by a single hand’s length; it was not the work of a master marksman, but for a Telrin, he couldn’t have been more pleased with himself if he had shot off a fly’s wing.

He returned to his original position, still smirking at nothing in particular. If he hit it once, he could surely do so again. He sank into his stance, sighted the distance and drew his bow.

Hold.

Breathe.

Fly.

He grunted irritably when the arrow curved to the side. It struck the log, but the result was too high up and too far away from the knot he had been aiming for, sending his spirits down once more. And once he was next to the tree, the boy realized to his chagrin that the arrow was much too high for him to reach from the ground, and that if he had any desire to retrieve it then he would have to climb. He looked at the trunk of the fallen tree, reluctant, but he had already lost one arrow today. It simply wouldn’t do to lose another. With a sigh he slipped the quiver to the ground, leaned his bow against a bush and went to the base of the tree. The trunk was tilted enough that remaining stable upon it would be a simple enough affair, but moving to a place where he could get the arrow would not be a particularly easy nor pleasant job. Telrin straddled the tree, then clasped it between his knees. He dug both hands into the moss, then very carefully began to half crawl, half climb his way up.

[Telrin]

He reached the arrow with all the speed of an arthritic snail, but he did get there. The arrow stuck neatly out of the wood, which was moldy enough that pulling the thing out was not at all difficult. From there, Telrin let the thing drop to the ground; the light brown feathers stood out plainly against the dark leaves of the forest floor, and it would be far easier to climb down without it.

Unable to do anything particularly fancy, Telrin hugged the tree and scooted backwards. Had someone else been there to watch, the young hunter would have never done something so undignified, but for now he was alone. Just like he liked it.

He managed to get about halfway down before deciding that he was done with this tree and that the ground was quite close enough, so calmly, unhurriedly, the boy relaxed and let himself fall. A single instant was spent in midair before the damp leaves embraced him, cushioning and dispersing the force of impact so that there was hardly anything more than a sudden oof of discomfort. He blinked, once, twice, regaining his bearings before rolling to the side to pinpoint his arrow. It lay within arm’s reach, and so he retrieved it, rolled into a sitting position and returned it to his quiver. In another moment he was standing and making his way back to where he had made his other shots. He slung the quiver back onto his back, adjusted the grip on his bow and nocked an arrow. Again the boy sighted the distance and drew.

Hold.

Breathe.

Fly.

He allowed himself another smirk when the arrow struck the log, this time much closer to the knot. Enough for him to consider it a success. He was feeling fairly good about what little skill he had as he retrieved the arrow, and his previous failure with the hare and the deer were all but forgotten. He gave the log a lingering look, but eventually decided against shooting again; time was not infinite, and he had yet to bring down anything significant.

And so, with a much lighter step, Telrin turned from the clearing and headed back into the depths of the forest.

[Telrin]

He opted to loop back around to the stream. Animals were sure to visit it here and there to slake their thirst, and if he got truly desperate he could hunt for frogs and crawdads. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though.

He emerged a bit farther upstream than he intended, but he had traveled this area before. There should be a stand of cattails farther up, if he wasn’t mistaken, and cattails meant more food. Perhaps he could pause in his hunt to pull up some of the roots for his evening meal.

It was quite by accident that Telrin stumbled across the raccoon. The sand had silenced his steps, and there was no foliage in his path to disturb, so his approach had been overcome by the sound of running water. The creature screeched in surprise, dropped the frog it had been dining on and wheeled away. With his bow already nocked, it was sheer instinct that drew the string to his ear and released the arrow, which crossed the five feet between the archer and his quarry with ease. The arrow pierced the raccoon’s neck, slaying it cleanly.

There was a moment of stillness, and then Telrin punched the air triumphantly. The kill had come unexpectedly, but it was a kill nonetheless; he ran towards the fallen creature, plucking it from the ground and turning it over in his hands. The arrow had cut completely through the raccoon’s neck and protruded from its throat, washing the boy’s hands in blood that was already stopping without a beating heart to move it. He could skin it at camp, then cook it; raccoon was a decent meat, as far as meats went, and its pelt was lush and healthy. A fine one, to be sure, and one that would surely fetch a good price.

Telrin gently removed the arrow from the animal’s throat and started back to his camp in a cheerful mood. Yes, perhaps he was improving after all.

- End -

[Taylani]

XP Award!

Telrin:

XP Award:

• +4 Weapon: Short Bow
• +2 hunting

Lore:

• Hunting: Shooting dear in flank is bad.
• Try try again

Comments :

Good job RPing your skill level Feel free to PM me with any thoughts or concerns. Don’t forget to edit/delete the grade request..

TAYLANI