Timestamp TBD (late fall/winter some time)
“Yer mother’s rolling in her grave right about now, Ale,” The red haired man snorted, taking a bite of an apple. Alevadra could only grit her teeth, shooting him a look before working with the damnedable contraption within her hands. “If you ever want to go on that knighting quest, you best get to practicing this at all hours, morning glory, or you’ll never be a knight. You’ll muck my stables till your fingers are raw.” Patrick wasn’t really an ass, but he was pushing her, pressing her buttons and irritating the Druva. He needed to. He needed her to be ready, and right now, she wasn’t ready.
Ale woke up to a tapping upon the window in the barracks. It wasn’t a bird or some child tossing pebbles, but a light drizzle to start off the day. A chill had a grasp over the room and the squire felt herself curl tighter under the covers of her bed. If only she could bottle the warmth and carry it beside her breast—then perhaps her long intended day of training wouldn’t be so foul. A chime passed, the repetitious tapping keeping her from sleep. Brown eyes peeked up towards the window, watching as the rain made trails across the pane. Well—there was no point in lazing about, with any luck Ale would finish in the stables and the rain would have let up in time to practice arching.
Her feet touched the cold floor, shooting a chill through her body as she moved quickly to dress in linens and her heavy cloak. The squire snatched her mother’s bow from her things and began the trek down to the stables. Lyris was there, snoozing, as was Patrick’s horse. Her patron’s horse looked at her, as if irritated that she had not come sooner to feed him. “Yes, yes,” She waved a hand as she slipped the cloak from her shoulders and rested her bow against the wall of the stable. “You’ll get your food soon enough, why can’t you be patient like Lyris?” The stallion huffed and looked away from Ale. “Ass,” She thought, moving to feed the horses and tend to their paddocks.
Sweat dotted her brow as she hefted the soiled bedding into a wheel barrow, one scoop after another. Her wispy blonde hair badgering her vision as she twisted at the spine. Lyris was thankful for the food, fresh water and cleaned paddock. The stallion could have cared less, he munched his food and wholly ignored Alevadra as she worked around him. All in all, cleaning the paddocks only took a bell and a half. She could hear outside, the rain had lessened to a light drizzle, more of a mist than rain, really. “Well, how about that,” The woman patted Lyris’s hind quarters. “Looks like I’ll get to make my mum roll around some more today,” She joked rather sourly. The squire fastened the cloak back around her shoulders, plucking the bow from its resting place and made her way out to the training area.
Her thin soled boots squelched in the mud—they’d need a good washing, not to mention her feet would as well. Alevadra didn’t mind dirt and mud; it was easily enough dealt with. The mist-like rain dampened Ale’s face as she entered the training grounds. A few others—Squires, knights and pages alike—were working on their own training, a few teaching, a few learning. It was by no means busy in the training area, if anything, there were few people there.
Off to the edge of everything was the archery stands, set up with bales of hay to take any shots. Upon the hay was painted targets and upon the ground were lines of different colored stones from a variety of distances. Of course—Ale had proven to Patrick that her ability with a bow was nothing like her mother’s, so she moved up to one of the closer lines, looking at the target with her unstrung bow at her side. “How can you be so petching terrible at this?” It was almost embarrassing how long it took her to string the bow before.
The cloak was removed—it would only be in the way otherwise—and hung over a stand that held spears and swords. She moved back to the line she had been at and began the adventures of stringing her bow. One arm of the bow rested on the top of her left foot and pressed against her ankle. The length of the bow went between her legs, the middle of the bow pressing against the back of her knee on her right leg. One end of the bow was already strung—The bit against her ankle—One hand held the upper arm of the bow while the other held the string.
Her muscles tensed, pressing up against her pale skin as she pulled the arm of the bow forward and tried to reach the loop of the strip around the top. Almost a chime of trying to string the thing and she let out a grunt of frustration, relaxing her shaking muscles as brown eyes looked up to the sky. Under her breath she cursed in Pavi, her left hand idly fiddling with the loop on the string. The woman thought a moment, her eyes returning to the bow before she shifted the wooden object slightly, giving herself better leverage to string it. Another try, pulling on the upper arm and string… Success, Ale looped the thin string over the wooden arm and into the small indented places where in belonged.
A sigh of relief left her—At least stringing it went better that time. Ale’s body moved as she lifted the bow to be before her, the bow held in her left while her right went to reach for an arrow from the quiver at her side.
Ale woke up to a tapping upon the window in the barracks. It wasn’t a bird or some child tossing pebbles, but a light drizzle to start off the day. A chill had a grasp over the room and the squire felt herself curl tighter under the covers of her bed. If only she could bottle the warmth and carry it beside her breast—then perhaps her long intended day of training wouldn’t be so foul. A chime passed, the repetitious tapping keeping her from sleep. Brown eyes peeked up towards the window, watching as the rain made trails across the pane. Well—there was no point in lazing about, with any luck Ale would finish in the stables and the rain would have let up in time to practice arching.
Her feet touched the cold floor, shooting a chill through her body as she moved quickly to dress in linens and her heavy cloak. The squire snatched her mother’s bow from her things and began the trek down to the stables. Lyris was there, snoozing, as was Patrick’s horse. Her patron’s horse looked at her, as if irritated that she had not come sooner to feed him. “Yes, yes,” She waved a hand as she slipped the cloak from her shoulders and rested her bow against the wall of the stable. “You’ll get your food soon enough, why can’t you be patient like Lyris?” The stallion huffed and looked away from Ale. “Ass,” She thought, moving to feed the horses and tend to their paddocks.
Sweat dotted her brow as she hefted the soiled bedding into a wheel barrow, one scoop after another. Her wispy blonde hair badgering her vision as she twisted at the spine. Lyris was thankful for the food, fresh water and cleaned paddock. The stallion could have cared less, he munched his food and wholly ignored Alevadra as she worked around him. All in all, cleaning the paddocks only took a bell and a half. She could hear outside, the rain had lessened to a light drizzle, more of a mist than rain, really. “Well, how about that,” The woman patted Lyris’s hind quarters. “Looks like I’ll get to make my mum roll around some more today,” She joked rather sourly. The squire fastened the cloak back around her shoulders, plucking the bow from its resting place and made her way out to the training area.
Her thin soled boots squelched in the mud—they’d need a good washing, not to mention her feet would as well. Alevadra didn’t mind dirt and mud; it was easily enough dealt with. The mist-like rain dampened Ale’s face as she entered the training grounds. A few others—Squires, knights and pages alike—were working on their own training, a few teaching, a few learning. It was by no means busy in the training area, if anything, there were few people there.
Off to the edge of everything was the archery stands, set up with bales of hay to take any shots. Upon the hay was painted targets and upon the ground were lines of different colored stones from a variety of distances. Of course—Ale had proven to Patrick that her ability with a bow was nothing like her mother’s, so she moved up to one of the closer lines, looking at the target with her unstrung bow at her side. “How can you be so petching terrible at this?” It was almost embarrassing how long it took her to string the bow before.
The cloak was removed—it would only be in the way otherwise—and hung over a stand that held spears and swords. She moved back to the line she had been at and began the adventures of stringing her bow. One arm of the bow rested on the top of her left foot and pressed against her ankle. The length of the bow went between her legs, the middle of the bow pressing against the back of her knee on her right leg. One end of the bow was already strung—The bit against her ankle—One hand held the upper arm of the bow while the other held the string.
Her muscles tensed, pressing up against her pale skin as she pulled the arm of the bow forward and tried to reach the loop of the strip around the top. Almost a chime of trying to string the thing and she let out a grunt of frustration, relaxing her shaking muscles as brown eyes looked up to the sky. Under her breath she cursed in Pavi, her left hand idly fiddling with the loop on the string. The woman thought a moment, her eyes returning to the bow before she shifted the wooden object slightly, giving herself better leverage to string it. Another try, pulling on the upper arm and string… Success, Ale looped the thin string over the wooden arm and into the small indented places where in belonged.
A sigh of relief left her—At least stringing it went better that time. Ale’s body moved as she lifted the bow to be before her, the bow held in her left while her right went to reach for an arrow from the quiver at her side.
