........and you will know him by the trail of dead:Attn Myth

[WhiteWolf]

It was one of those rare days when everything was right with the world, the sun was shining, and the sky was that impossible shade of blue, and Owen could just see how clear it was through the leaves on front of his window. As he lay there, contemplating the forthcoming day, a large, female, white wolf padded into the room and climbed onto the bed. Thankfully it was a large, well built bed, and Owen smiled as Ice lay down besides him, her pale blue eyes regarding him. “Yes I know Ice, there is not time to lounge here doing nothing, but it is too nice a day to be rushing about.”

 

Later that morning, Owen emerged from his tree house and made his way to the Ranger training area where he had arranged to meet Speed for his first weapons lesson. Owen knew Speed, and thought he would, one day, be a valuable asset to the Wolfkin. As he made his way there he greeted a few of the Wolfkin he saw and shared a joke with John and one of his students, as they were on their way to train in the use of the Spring.

 

Opening the door to his office, Owen walked inside and hung his cloak on the hook on the back of the door. Sitting down behind his desk, he let his eyes run over the mound of paper work in front of him, just then there was a knock at the door, and Speed entered full of his usual enthusiasm and boundless energy. Owen and Speed exchanged a few pleasantries before starting the business of the day.

 

”Now today we will be going to the Armoury, there you will be able to see all the weapons we have and can choose anything you like, just one mind you. Before we go though I would like to learn something of your past, where you lived, if you have family that sort of thing. I find it is always best to get to know someone I am training, that way the lessons can be tailored to each person.” As Aleeza started to speak, Owen got up and started a fire in the hearth, before boiling a kettle full of water and making two mugs of tea, all the time listening to what Speed was saying. Eventually he sat down and pushed one of the cups towards him. “Thank you for that Speed, if there are any questions you have then please ask them and I will answer as fully as I can, but I think we should do that on our way to the armoury.” With that Owen stood up and opened the door, letting Speed go first. “The Armoury is down the steps at the end of the Hall, you will need a key to open the door that is at the bottom of the steps.” Owen handed him the key then they made their way to the steps.

 

Owen

 

The White Wolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed was excited.

 

After his ride with Burrich the night before, the giant man had told him that he was going to be leaving for a while but not to worry because Owen would be continuing his training. Speed had been so happy that he could barely sleep. He had looked up to the tall Ranger ever since he gave Speed a tour on his first day in the Stedding.

 

That morning, he woke up way too early for his meeting with Owen. It was still dark outside except for a handful of stubborn stars that refused to give over, but Speed couldn’t contain himself any longer. He pulled on his clothes and decided to go for a run to burn off a little steam. Few things in life gave him as much joy as running.

 

The youth dashed out of the barn loft he was temporarily staying in (he still hadn’t found a place to live yet), paused to give Red a quick scratch behind his ears, and then was off. He sprinted through the early morning emptiness like a wolf cub in the spring. Speed wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever stop to think about it, but in reality that was very much what he was. A wolf cub in the spring of his life.

 

He flowed across the forest floor like a bubbling stream over gravel. His fluid athleticism spoke of the truth behind his nickname, and his youthful exuberance was too much to resist for many of the wolves in the area. They bombarded his mind with thoughts that he couldn’t quite figure out as he ran, but finally the more experienced wolves simplified it so the two-legged wolf cub could understand.

 

Joy.

 

His grin was reflected by myriad sets of wolf teeth as the younger members of the pack ran along side him. They tore across grassy meadows, ran through fog enshrouded gulleys, and splashed across creeks. This was life at its most basic, and rather than calming him down, it just made Speed even happier.

 

Finally, he completed his circuit and came to a halt outside the door where Owen was supposed to meet him. His wolf running mates casually left him to return to their resting places with their one shared thought still in his mind. Joy. Speed didn’t realize that few of the other Wolfkin had ever shared that feeling with their four-legged kindred.

 

Speed looked around but didn’t see Owen, so he figured the Ranger was already inside. He knocked and walked right in, still breathing heavily and slick with sweat, with a grin as wide as a crescent moon. Owen seemed surprised, but simply asked if he enjoyed the run. They made small talk for a bit, before the older man got down to business.

 

“Now today we will be going to the Armoury, there you will be able to see all the weapons we have and can choose anything you like, just one mind you. Before we go though I would like to learn something of your past, where you lived, if you have family that sort of thing. I find it is always best to get to know someone I am training, that way the lessons can be tailored to each person.”

 

Speed was excited about getting the chance to pick a weapon. He’d never used anything more than his knife and bow, which he was pretty good with when it came to hunting. Visions of swashbuckling adventure briefly flashed through his head. Owen’s remark about his past brought him back to earth, though, dampening his mood.

 

The boy plopped down in a chair and scuffed the floor with his right boot. He stared at the floor as if trying to find a way out, but he answered. Eventually.

 

He started out with, “My Da was a talented farrier, so I grew up around horses.” After that, everything just kind of poured out. Speed’s gifts as a jockey and horse trainer, their move to Tear, racing, how he and Lord Byron’s young stallion Red became famous for never losing, the weird way people started acting towards him when his eyes changed color. He told Owen about the wolves starting to show up, and how he began to just hang out at his Da’s place when his duties didn’t force him to be around other people. By the time he got to the part where he saved Lord Byron’s life and was called a Shadowspawn for his efforts, his throat was dry and his voice was cracking. He ended with,

 

 

“So Da saw me off. He didn’t want to know where I was going. He said they couldn’t make him tell if he didn’t know. He just stood there watching and waving until I couldn’t see him any more. He knew Byron’s henchmen would kill him when I wasn’t there, but all he cared about was me getting away.” Looking up at Owen with tears in his eyes, Speed finished. “So now you guys are the only family I have left. And Red. And the wolves.”

 

Owen pushed a cup of hot tea into his hand. “Thank you for that Speed, if there are any questions you have then please ask them and I will answer as fully as I can, but I think we should do that on our way to the armoury.” With that Owen stood up and opened the door, letting Speed go first. “The Armoury is down the steps at the end of the Hall, you will need a key to open the door that is at the bottom of the steps.” Owen handed him the key then they made their way to the steps.

 

Speed tried to rekindle the feeling he’d had that morning, but he couldn’t get the spark to catch.

 

He had blocked out missing his Da ever since Anton found him on the Plains of Maredo. But it had all come crashing back down on him in Owen’s office. He wasn’t really looking forward to today any more.

[WhiteWolf]

As they entered the armoury, Owen pondered Speed’s tale, it was not that uncommon a tale amongst the Wolfkin, and many had suffered a similar fate. Owen’s mind drifted back to the night he found Leila. Her experience had been similar to Speed’s and so Owen now had a greater insight into Speed’s character. “Unfortunately Speed, your tale is not that uncommon amongst us, nearly all of the Wolfkin have experienced the same as you have. Or, like me, they never knew their family, or have seen them all murdered in front of their eyes by two-legs who think we are in league with the Dark One.” Owen shorted in contempt at that idea, he had spent nearly all of his adult life fighting against the minions of the Dark One, something the two-legs would never credit. Well most of them would not; there was hope that the people of the new Manetheren would become as enlightened as the old inhabitants had been.

 

“Take heart young ‘un, you are amongst friends here. Friends who given time will become like family to you. That is little comfort right now, I realise, but given time you will come to find that this new family will become just as important as your old family.” That was all Owen could think to say on the matter and fell quiet as he watched Speed stalk around the armoury,

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed stared in awe at the room filled with weapons. He made two complete turns, surveying all it held, before he took a step toward any of the racks lining the walls. There were axes, spears, bows, and things he didn’t even know the names for, but he had eyes only for the swords.

 

He had often dreamed of being a hero like one from the stories. Traveling around saving the world, he would strike a dashing figure with his mighty sword that everyone would know the name of. Now was his chance to make those dreams a reality.

 

The boy walked to the wall lined with seemingly endless racks of swords and paced back and forth, fervently searching out the sword his imagination had pictured. Finally he saw it.

 

It was huge!

 

He grabbed it by the hilt with one hand and gave it a tug, but it didn’t budge. He placed his other hand firmly on the hilt as well, there was plenty of room for both of them, and gave another pull. Nothing. He placed one foot on the base of the rack, and gave a tremendous heave. It came loose! Slowly, doggedly he dragged it from its resting place until he had the great and massive blade in full view. Taking a few deep breaths because the thing was so blasted heavy, he focused and tried to lift it over his head like the stories always said happened after a hero’s valiant fight. His arms quivered and his hands shook with the effort as he strained. Finally, finally!, he managed to lift it high, his face a bright red with the effort, but with a sudden gasp as his breath rushed out, the giant sword’s point plunged back to earth.

 

THUD!

 

It’s tip was lodged deeply in the wooden planked floor near his feet. With a nervous gulp (I almost lost my toes!) and an uneasy look at Owen who was covering his mouth because of an apparent coughing attack or something, he said, “Maybe I should try one a bit smaller.”

 

He once again scanned the racks of blades until he spied a whip-slender sword that looked to be as slim and quick as he was. On instinct, he decided to choose it. Remembering how hard it was to pull the last sword out, Speed grasped the handle with all his might and gave a tremendous yank.

 

The sword flew through the air over his shoulder and right toward where Owen was standing! The tall ranger dove out of the way and then turned to see the rapier lodged firmly in the wall where his head had been. Speed saw the red in Owen’s cheeks and turned back hurriedly to the sword racks before he got the expected angry speech.

 

Grabbing the first sword that he could lay his hands on, Speed quickly jerked it loose, and jerked the rack off balance, as well. With a tremendous CRASH the rack fell to the floor, scattering swords all over, including the one he had tried to pick.

 

Sheepishly, Speed turned toward the ranger who was leaning against the wall, hiding his face with his head in his hands for some reason. Maybe he hit his head when he dove out of the way, or something.

 

Appreciating the chance to get out before he was yelled at, Speed quickly spoke up. “Uh, maybe I should just pick one of these bows. I was pretty good at hunting with my old one.” Choosing one that looked about right for his size, Speed propped it near the door and turned to clean up the mess he’d made.

 

Owen stopped him, though, with a wave of his hand and choked out the word, “Outside.” He sounded like he was having some sort of fit or something, and when he followed Speed out the door he was having trouble walking. Surely he didn’t hit his head THAT hard.

[WhiteWolf]

After Speed’s demonstration with the sword rack, Owen was very relieved to hear him say. “Uh, maybe I should just pick one of these bows. I was pretty good at hunting with my old one.” Owen offered thanks to whatever good spirits had decided to take pity on him and tried to avoid splitting his sides with laughter at the young mans antics. Once he had made his choice, thankfully not trying to use the longbows the Rangers used, Owen led him outside and started to explain about physical fitness and endurance. “Every morning a few of us go out for a run, I try to encourage all my students to join in, but it is your choice. For now you natural ability will suffice, but if you want to survive in the outside world I encourage you to join us.” With that short speech over, Owen started out at a slow jog, the short run to the field where the Wolfkin had an archery range, would help to loosen them both up.

 

The field had been cleared of any obstacles and various groups of Wolfkin were gathered practising their skills with a variety of longbows and crossbows. Owen led Speed towards a vacant area and when they got there Owen asked Speed to collect a few quivers of arrows while he set up some targets. It did not take Speed long to return with the quivers and Owen thought the hardest thing he would have to teach Speed was patience, he seemed to do everything twice as fast as anyone else, such was his enthusiasm. Grinning at this, Owen asked Speed to demonstrate what he already knew about shooting a bow. “Three aimed shots into the nearest target should do, make sure to group them as closely as you can, and Speed, make sure you aim for the correct set of targets, we do not want any accidents now do we?” Grinning at the innocent expression on Speed’s face, Owen signalled to him to start when he was ready, then stood well back and behind Speed, you just never could be to careful around enthusiastic people armed with a longbow.

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed rolled his eyes at the notion of him needing to get in better shape. If he had two coppers to rub together, he’d bet he was the fastest person in the Stedding. But he didn’t have a single copper to his name, so it didn’t really matter. Besides, running was fun, and it would prove interesting to see how the older folks measured up.

 

After the short run to the archery range and the retrieval of a few quivers, Speed listened intently to everything Owen said. When it was time to finally begin shooting, Speed was lost to the rest of the world…

 

Growing up, he and his father had often barely scraped by. Him being a well-respected jockey and his dad a respected farrier didn’t mean they lived the high life. Tairen high lords weren’t the most generous of masters, it turned out. That meant while his da had spent the evenings finishing up chores around the homestead, Speed was left to do the hunting.

 

He learned the craft quickly, because going hungry makes for a focused pupil. Unlike in every other area of his life, shooting a bow wasn’t accompanied by a burst of energy and boundless enthusiasm. Instead, when Speed was on the hunt he was incredibly patient. A missed shot usually meant a missed supper that night, and he didn’t like going hungry. So he was very deliberate in his actions when he hunted.

 

Blotting out everything around him, Speed focused on the man-sized target nearest him. Hitting it should prove no problem. The biggest thing he had ever fired an arrow at was a deer, but usually his prey was a rabbit, squirrel, or a tasty fowl. But looking at the vaguely man-shaped target he was about to kill gave him a weird feeling. Dismissing it, he focused in on the spot where its heart would be. He took a deep breath.

 

Never taking his eye off that spot, he knelt down and ever so slowly placed his quiver on the ground. The slightest sound would notify his target that something was wrong, and so would any sudden movement. The boy gently, quietly pulled an arrow away from its brothers and nocked it. He took a deep breath.

 

Keeping his eye on the spot, he drew the arrow back just past his ear. He took a deep breath.

 

He never felt the bowstring leave his fingers, but the arrow blossomed in the target’s chest like a deadly rose of feathers. Still, he didn’t look away. Sometimes, the prey wouldn’t die right off. It was better to make sure of a kill. He took a deep breath.

 

When he was certain of the shot, Speed carefully repeated the process, never taking his eye off the target. Carefully, cautiously, slowly but smoothly he drew an arrow and took a deep breath. He nocked the arrow and took a deep breath. He pulled it back and let it go. It blossomed alongside its twin.

 

Three times he fired. Three times he hit the target. All three arrows would have been covered by one of those copper pieces that he didn’t have in his pockets. To the boy, all sense of time had been lost while he focused on the hunt. But for Owen, it was quite the opposite.

 

Finally, when Speed was confident that his last arrow had thoroughly killed the target, again, he looked to Owen with a smile. “Well, we won’t be going hungry tonight.” Owen’s confused look at him and then at the sun, which was now high in the sky, confused Speed as well.

 

“What?”

[WhiteWolf]

Owen watched intently as Speed made his preparations and then nocked an arrow to his bow and after a moment, fired the first of his three arrows at the nearest target Owen had set up. Before the first arrow had had time to stop quivering in the target, a second and then a third quickly followed it. The grouping of the three arrows was impressive and Owen nodded slightly as if deep in thought.

 

“Good effort Speed, you would certainly not go hungry with shooting like that.” Speed seemed to grow at the sound of Owen’s praise. “But, there are a couple of things you can do to improve even further. You are letting you shoulder and arm droop the longer you shoot. You’re first shot, your elbow is in the correct position, but for the second and third it is not. Try to keep your elbow up and level, this should help steady your aim and keep your arrows on target.” Owen had Speed stand as if he was about to shoot, and showed him the correct position for his elbow.” The other thing you might want to change is your stance. Your feet are too close together, you should open your stance out slightly and if like now, you are shooting from a standing position turn sideways more. It is ok to stand as you are now when hunting, the animals do not fire back. But if you stand like that when facing a human opponent you present too much of yourself as a target, so turn more sideways on.” Again Owen demonstrated to Speed what he meant and then instructed him to practice these improvements, but not on the nearest target.

 

“What I want you to do now, is practice alternating between the targets, do not fire more than one arrow in succession at the targets. Fire your first one at the nearest, your second at the furthest, and the next arrow at the one in the middle, and so on until you have used up your supply of arrows. You may begin when ready.”

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed’s grin grew until it felt like it was going to wrap all the way around his face. Owen’s compliment was the first one he had ever received from the tall, pale Ranger. It felt good to do a job well enough to earn praise.

 

He listened carefully to Owen’s instructions and the few tips on technique, and vowed to himself that he would follow them explicitly. Looking at the three targets, the young archer felt like hitting them wouldn’t be very difficult. The farthest was only about a 100 paces off. He was much more concerned with implementing the stance Owen had suggested. He had never worried about being a target before, only about hitting the target.

 

Placing his feet as Owen had said, and remembering to keep his elbow up and level like the Ranger had demonstrated, Speed began his deliberately methodical, but smooth, shooting motion.

 

His tongue stuck out, firmly wedged between his teeth as he concentrated, but he never noticed. His focus was only on one thing: his target. He shifted around a bit before he took his first shot, trying to get comfortable with the feel of his new stance. But when he finally did, it was one smooth, if precisely disciplined attempt after another.

 

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

 

One after another, the arrows found their mark. When he had finally emptied his quiver, each of the targets had a dozen feathered shafts on the left side of their chests where a buttonhole should be, like an arrow corsage.

 

Speed was sweating profusely from the effort and concentration, but when he paused to wipe the perspiration from his face with a forearm he noticed that the sun was well past its zenith. He had missed lunch! His belly growled angrily at him as if to echo his thoughts. He hadn’t realized that he had been on the archery range for over half the day with Owen stoically watching him. Where had the time gone?

[WhiteWolf]

Owen watched with growing approval as Speed shot arrow after arrow, the young man’s concentration was very good, and with a little more work on that and his actual shooting, Owen thought Speed had the potential to be one of the best archers Owen had seen. Time to change up the lesson, we cannot have him getting too big headed here . Arrogance was something that could destroy a person quicker than any blade, and Owen did not want that to happen here.

 

“See how a few small changes can improve your technique Speed, that is what makes the difference between an average archer, and a good one. If you keep improving like this, you have the makings of a good archer, but you will have to work hard at this if you are to reach your potential.”

 

The grin on Speed’s face was all that Owen needed to see to know his words had got through to Speed. “Now shooting a target that is not moving is all good and proper, but you will not find many of your enemies all that obliging, no matter how nicely you ask them.” Owen finished his words with a grin that had been something Riverwind had often said to him when they had been training or hunting. “While you gather up all of the arrows you have used, I will see to the next stage of your training.” With that Owen started to remove all of the targets, and by the time he was finished Speed had returned with three full quivers of arrows. The two men then started to erect a frame, two slanted uprights separated by a long pole. Once the frame was secure, Owen added the targets which were suspended by different lengths of rope from the cross bar.

 

“I will set the targets in motion Speed and when I am clear you can start shooting, lets see if you can maintain your perfect score.” Owen turned to the three targets and was about to set them in motion when he turned back to face Speed. “Oh and Speed, please wait until I am out of the line of fire before you shoot. Hitting your teacher is rather frowned upon.” Grinning at Speed’s sheepish expression, Owen set the targets in motion then moved out of the line of fire, waiting for Speed to begin.

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed listened to the Ranger with rap attention. So far, his instructions had proven incredibly useful and the concise way Owen had of showing him the proper techniques made learning easy. As Owen continued the lesson, Speed furrowed his brow. Shoot at a moving target? He hadn’t done any of that while hunting. It was easier to hit a deer, rabbit, or quail when they were sitting still, so he had gotten pretty good at stalking them. Shooting at them while they were running off usually meant a lost arrow and an air sandwich for supper.

 

Still, the youth was willing to give it a go. He calmly went through the motions of his normal routine and let fly the arrow.

 

It was a clean miss.

 

Speed looked at Owen with a sheepish half-grin before trying again. He pulled the bowstring back behind his ear and… he missed again. Confused, Speed turned to look at Owen.

 

“What am I doing wrong?”

[WhiteWolf]

What happened was exactly what Owen thought might, he had seen many people use a bow against a stationary target and perform admirably, but as soon as the target started to move they had problems. Luckily, in Speed’s case, Owen thought he knew what to suggest, as he had an inkling that Speed had never been shown how to hit a moving target. The principal was the same as for a stationary target, with a couple of additions.

 

“Do not fret about it Speed, this is not the end of the world, and I will wager now, that by the end of the day you will be hitting the target more than you will miss it.” Owen saw the look of disbelief on Speed’s face and chuckled quietly to himself. Again this was not an unexpected reaction and one that Owen saw a lot when someone was asked to try something new and did not perform as they expected.

 

“Your mechanics are fine, but when trying to hit a moving target there are two crucial elements you must take into consideration, how strong the wind is, and you must lead the target. The first you will learn quickly as it is not dissimilar to gauging the wind when shooting at a stationary target. However, learning how much lead to give only comes with experience. The wind today is not to strong, so you do not have to worry about that, so what I want you to do is concentrate on leading the target.”

 

“How do you mean Owen?” Speed’s question was not an easy one to answer, as each target moved at a different speed. “You need to aim just in front if the target as it swings, how much can only be discerned through experience and practice. Watch what I do and then try and duplicate it.” Owen picked up his bow and strung it, then told Speed to stand behind him. From there you should be able to see how much lead I give the target, once you think you have it you can have a go.” With that Owen took an arrow from his quiver and notched it. Taking his time he let his emotions go, and concentrated totally on the target, moving his bow in time with it. Just as Speed started to wonder if Owen was ever going to shoot, the arrow flew from the bow and embedded itself in the target. Owen repeated the process until he had used up half his quiver. The result of this was a set of targets peppered with arrows. Owen turned to Speed. “Now it is your turn, do not lead the target too much, there is no need today, and try and keep all your movements smooth and under control. First though, you can help me remove the arrows then you can start.” Quickly the two of them gathered up all the arrows Owen had used and then Speed prepared himself, Owen stood behind him, ready to offer any suggestions or advice.

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed listened attentively to Owen’s words and carefully watched him send arrow after arrow into the targets. He is good. After Owen finished and they gathered his spent arrows, the young wolfkin re-played everything he had just heard and witnessed in an attempt to produce the same results now that it was his turn.

 

Taking a deep breath, he began his routine and fired. Miss! Exasperated, Speed turned around and sent a frustrated look at his teacher. Owen, though, was unperturbed. “Try again lad. You’re doing fine,” was all he said as he stood there tall and relaxed.

 

Speed sighed, and then he tried again. He pulled the bowstring back past his ear, and sent the shaft flying toward the swinging target. It hit it!

 

It wasn’t a direct hit, and the arrow didn’t sink into the center of the moving mark. Instead, it grazed one side before sailing on past. But it was a definite improvement. Speed smiled broadly at Owen who let a hint of a smile flash across his face before urging the youth back to his task.

 

Speed’s next shot was another clean miss, but after that he began to get the hang of things. It was very similar to riding a horse. Unless you wanted a sore butt, you moved in rhythm with the horse and timing was important. The same thing applied to hitting the moving targets. It was all about rhythm and timing. You just had to find the proper rhythm to lead the target correctly and release the arrow at the proper time. It wasn’t that hard once you learned the trick of it.

 

By the time he had emptied his quivers Speed was hitting near dead center more times than not, and he almost never missed completely any more.

 

His fingers and shoulders hurt from drawing the bow so many times, and sweat stung his eyes from the effort and concentration. His mouth was dry, and he was so hungry his stomach had long since come to the conclusion that his throat had been cut. Still, he was proud of his efforts. He seemed to be getting the hang of this bow thing, not like the swords that he had wanted to try out. His recollection of the debacle in the armory wiped most of the smile off his face.

[WhiteWolf]

Clapping Speed on his back, and nearly knocking the young man over, Owen congratulated him on his improvement and suggested that they finish the lesson there. “What I would like you to do for the next seven days is continue to practice what you have learnt here today, against both static and moving targets. I want you to vary the distances for the targets and also to build up the frequency of your shooting. When the seven days is up I will return to judge your improvement and we can then move onto something slightly more challenging. Now come on lest go to the Inn and get something to eat, I am sure you are as hungry as I am and I know I need a tankard of Dark. Maybe tonight you will join me, young ‘un. Or is it still milk for you?” Owen’s grin was infectious and soon Speed was grinning as well.

 

Once they had returned their bows to the racks, and recovered all of the arrows they had used, Owen and Wall jogged through the Stedding, and out towards the lake. Soon they were sitting at a table two large plates in front of them, piled high with food. Sipping at his tankard, Owen sighed with pleasure. “Well Speed, does it get any better than this?”

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

[Myth]

Speed delighted in the praise from Owen. He looked forward to working over the next several days to see what he could accomplish. So far, he thought he might turn out to be pretty good with the bow.

 

As he walked with a big smile on his face, a little voice inside his head spoke up clearly. You BETTER be good with it, because you’re likely to stab yourself if you fool around with those swords again. Light! You nearly chopped off your own foot and then nearly killed Owen! Best you stick to the bow and a knife now and again, and leave the sword to other folks.

 

Speed grimaced at the voice in his head. It was right, he supposed, but that only provided more motivation to get good with the bow. He vowed then and there to become the best archer in the world if the Creator willed it. And even if the Creator didn’t will it, he’d do it anyway.

 

Brimming with confidence and hungry as a bear after a long winter, Speed hurried to meet Owen at the inn.

 

When he had pulled up a chair and had a plate piled high with food, Owen asked him. “Well Speed, does it get any better than this?”

 

The young archer looked down at the feast before him, his mouth watering at the savory aroma, then looked around at his new family. “No sir, I don’t believe it does.”

 

The next week flew by in a blur.

 

Speed awoke every morning just as the first rays of sunshine pierced the gloomy recesses of the hayloft where he slept in the horse barn. Life in the Stedding had kept him so busy that he still hadn’t managed to find a permanent place to stay, but he had more important matters on his mind at the moment.

 

Every day this week his routine began the same. He shook the hay out of his hair, and then twisted and scratched to get out the few elusive pieces that had managed to worm their way into uncomfortable spots. Next, he scrambled down the ladder and patted Red for a few moments before dashing off to run with Owen and the rest of the Rangers.

 

They were good runners, but he quickly showed that he could easily keep up. Later on, he was sure there would be other areas that he would struggle with, so he wisely didn’t tease the older Wolfkin.

 

After the run they all shared breakfast (Speed ate a LOT), then Speed took a hurried bath in a water trough behind the horse barn. As soon he had given himself a thorough scrubbing, he retrieved his bow and a couple of quivers crammed full with arrows and dashed off to the archery range.

 

Each day he doggedly followed the tips Owen had given him, and he quickly saw progress. He had already been good at hitting the stationary targets, so he did a brief warm up with them to begin each session. As soon as he had emptied his first quiver into the immobile marks scattered across the field, he gathered the moving targets and focused on them. The THUNK of arrow meeting gourd resounded throughout the rest of the day.

 

He drove himself harshly, and it was a difficult task, but it seemed Owen had been correct. The young Wolfkin had a natural gift with the bow, and with the hard work he was putting in he quickly improved. He didn’t take a break for lunch that week, his youthful notion of becoming the next Hawkeye from the stories overriding any wisdom about pacing himself. Speed wasn’t going to become an amazing marksman in a single week, but no one could have convinced of that if they had tried.

 

So try he did, and the results were impressive.

 

He certainly didn’t hit the bull’s eye every time, but by the end of the week he never completely missed the target any more. Just as impressively, the slow, patient routine that he had used while honing his skills as a hunter was becoming noticeably faster. It still wasn’t as fast as Owen, but it was getting better, and that was good enough for the time being.

 

As the sun fell out of the sky each evening, he stumbled to the infirmary to get bandages put on his fingers. His intense practice sessions were tearing his fingers to shreds, but he wasn’t going to let a little thing like bloody fingers keep him from being the best bowman ever. No sir, I will not! Hmph! After that, he stopped by the armory to pick up a fresh, blood-free bowstring.

 

Each evening his shoulders ached like he had been beaten with a blacksmith’s hammer from pulling the taut bowstring behind his ear and letting fly so many hundreds of times. They were so sore that he could barely use his knife and fork to eat his supper, so he just gobbled food down with his bare hands. He received funny looks from a lot of the other patrons at the inn, but he was too tired to care. He stumbled to the horse barn after dark every night, but he always forked hay in for Red and gave him an apple he had picked up at supper.

 

Then he painfully crawled up the ladder and fell asleep with his clothes on, ready to repeat it all the next day.

 

He became so lost in his routine, that it surprised him when Owen arrived one evening a little before dusk. Has it been seven days already?

 

Smiling at the lad’s unusual habit of speaking his thoughts out loud, Owen said, “Yes it has.”

[WhiteWolf]

Once Speed got over his shock at finding out how many days had passed, he was eager to hear what was in store for him next, something that Owen was quick to tell him. “Tonight we will be leaving the Stedding and going out into the woods. We will take enough supplies with us to last two days and three nights. You will need your bow, arrows, skinning knife and personnel gear. Do not worry about where we will be sleeping, part of this lesson will also include building your own shelter, this I will also teach you. We leave in an hour, meet me by the Barracks.” Once he had finished with his instructions, Owen left Speed to follow them and returned to his office in the Barracks to collect his own gear.

 

Owen and Speed had been moving through the forest at a steady pace, Owen pointing out animal tracks to Speed, and showing him some of the game trails around the Stedding. As the night started to lighten, Owen started to look around for a suitable spot for their first camp. It did not take him long to locate such a spot and there was even a small stream nearby that they could use to wash in and supply fresh water for drinking. “Now we cannot always find ourselves with the luxury of a solid roof over our heads, or even a tent. In those times a Wolfkin that knows how to make a good shelter is worth his weight in gold. Now we have found a suitable spot, not easily over looked and with it’s own water supply so we now need to build our shelter.”

 

Owen walked over to where the branches of a tree touched the ground and quickly set about stripping the branches from the tree, but left the leaves on the branch. Owen instructed Speed to do the same and soon they had a pile of branches ready for the next phase. “Now Speed we need to select two branches that are reasonable straight and about this height.” Indicating how tall the branches needed to be, Speed started poking through the pile until he had two that met their requirements. Owen took one and started to strip it of its leaves and smaller branches until he had a pole that was the same height as he was. Taking out his knife he excavated a hole about the quarter of the poles length in depth. At the same time Speed copied Owen and when the holes were ready, Owen and Speed planted their poles and filled the holes in. With this done Owen started to lace the branches around the pole, creating a space inside that was completely covered. With the branches tightly woven together, only the heaviest of rainfall, or the strongest of wind could penetrate. Owen had to help Speed realign a couple of his branches, but soon both shelters were ready and it was onto the next stage of Wall’s training. Walking a short way from their camp, Owen squatted down and took a length of twine from his pocket. Quickly he made a snare and showed Speed where to place it. Taking another piece of twine Owen walked a few steps from the first snare and made another. Selecting another spot, Owen handed the twine to Speed and told him it was his turn to make a snare. “Take your time, make sure the knots are in the right place and tensioned correctly.” When Speed asked why they were setting snares, Owen replied. “We do not always have the luxury of our weapons, so it is important that we can feed ourselves from other means. There are three or four more trails we can set snares on, and who knows by the time we wake up we might have fresh rabbit waiting for us.”

 

Speed performed quite well with the snares and once Owen was satisfied they returned to the camp. “As you can see Speed, our shelters blend well into the surrounding vegetation, making them almost invisible. Whenever you choose a campsite you should always bear this in mind. Never make camp in a location that offers little in the way of concealment. If possible always make it near water and as sheltered from the wind as you can. Living in the wild is not easy, and if we are to keep our strength up we need to be careful. Follow these rules and you will not go far wrong. Now to bed, we have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

 

OOC: Speed, give you reactions to the above, then move us on to the next camp site, with Speed choosing the location. Explain why he chooses the place he does, bearing in mind all that Owen has told him.

[Myth]

It didn’t take him long to get his things together as Owen had bade him. He didn’t have much more than what he carried with him all the time, anyway. Except for the tack he used to ride Red, he only possessed a few silvers and coppers other than the clothes on his back and the stuff in his pockets. He still hadn’t even found a permanent place to stay yet. So he was already waiting outside when Owen exited the barracks.

 

Speed enjoyed the run through the forest, drinking in Owen’s instructions like a thirsty horse at a trough as his teacher pointed out this useful plant or that animal track. When he wasn’t talking, Owen’s ghostly figure was nearly soundless as he glided through the shadowy halls of the ancient wood. Alongside him, Speed had no trouble at all matching his pace, but he sounded like a stampede tromping through the undergrowth compared to his teacher. It was yet another thing he began to work on.

 

As evening approached, Owen called a halt to their run and began to make camp. As he showed Speed the rudiments of camp selection and shelter building, Speed thought to himself how handy this knowledge would’ve been when he was on the run from Tear. On that horrid journey, he had spent many a night shivering himself to sleep with no shelter other than the sky. And the sky makes for a lousy blanket.

 

The things Owen showed him were simple in concept, but much more difficult in practice. It took Speed only moments to understand the reasons behind why Owen did what he did, but the smooth, practiced motions the Ranger performed to finish his tasks weren’t easily duplicated. The youngster was soon covered with sweat, leaves, dirt, and tree sap, and his already sore fingers ached from the unaccustomed activities. Some of the things, like setting snares, Speed had done before, although Owen showed him a better way than how he had learned. The shelter making was completely new, however, and as the sky grew dark he knew it would provide a welcome respite from the day’s rigors. As the fire died down, and Speed drifted off into sleep, he smiled. It had been a good day.

 

They woke with the dawn and had a feast of rabbit.

 

Then they were off like wolves on the hunt.

 

About mid-day, Owen told him to begin looking for a good place for a campsite. “I want to see how much you remember from yesterday.”

 

Speed smiled, and began paying even closer attention to his surroundings. He was a noted horseman, but aside from hunting, he hadn’t spent much time in the woods. This was very new and exciting to him.

 

A couple of hours had gone by when Speed motioned for Owen to stop. “Would this make a good spot?” He pointed to the happily gurgling stream at the bottom of the hill, then motioned to the thick growth of trees just up the hill from where they stood. The side of the hill itself was mostly open and rock-strewn.

 

“We’d have water and shelter, and we would be out of the way of anyone likely to pass by here. What do you think?” Speed knew that it was awfully early to make camp, and he was sure that there was much he still had to learn, but he thought that this might be a likely spot.

[WhiteWolf]

Owen was scanning the site Speed had selected and mostly he was pleased by it, but there was one small consideration Speed had not taken into account. “This would be a very good spot Speed, except for one thing that you have over looked and that I did not mention earlier. The stream is higher than the campsite, that would mean if it is raining in the mountains now this stream would be in full flood by tonight. In situations like this a compromise has to be made. We would have to sacrifice cover for safety, if we absolutely had no other choice but to camp here. However, we do not have the same restrictions so lets look a bit higher up and see what we can find.”

 

The two men set off and it was not long before they found a suitable replacement site, offering almost as good cover as the previous one but with the added advantage of being on higher ground than the stream. Quickly they built their shelters and prepared the camp, then Owen told Speed to set the snares for the night. Owen had no qualms about letting Speed do this on his own and by the time Speed returned Owen had filled their canteens with water and prepared a hot drink, the kettle bubbling merrily on the small fire he had constructed. While Speed was relaxing with his drink, Owen started to prepare a meal. It was rabbit again, but this time Owen made it into a stew, using some of the supplies he had in his backpack.

 

When the meal was ready, Owen handed a bowl to Speed and carefully lifted the pot away from the fire, before ladling some stew into Speed’s bowl. Once he had poured some into his own bowl, Owen replaced the pot on the fire and then handed Speed some bread. “It is not as good as ‘Ris used to make, but I think you will find it palatable. (OOC the stew is better than you think, so don’t go making any smart alec comments*bg*)

 

While they were eating Owen explained that tomorrow Speed would be stalking some larger game then they had so far caught in their snares. “The final part of this lesson is the hunt. We will find a good-sized buck tomorrow, and you will stalk it, kill and skin it. Use all of what you have been taught to achieve this Speed, and tomorrow night we will return to the Stedding with a fine addition to our stores.”

 

Owen

 

The WhiteWolf

 

Ranger Leader

 

OOC:Your next post is your last one Speed, so have fun with it, that will be the end of this lesson

[Myth]

Speed laughed as Owen made light of his culinary skills. “This isn’t bad at all,” Speed mouthed as he chewed a large scoop. “If you want to taste something truly awful, you should try Anton’s cooking. I think poisoning would be better, ‘cause then at least the pain stops quickly.”

 

Owen’s burst of laughter boomed through the forest twilight. It was a comfortable, relaxed sound that somehow brightened the oncoming night and made the campsite more like a home. They spent the rest of the evening talking over Speed’s time in the stedding. Owen seemed amazed that Speed hadn’t yet found a place to call his own, but the youth was more eager to talk about his horse, Red, and all the fun they’d had together.

 

When he finally curled up to sleep, Speed dreamed of tomorrow’s hunt. And in the distance, wolf howls echoed them.

 

The day began just like the day before, as most days do, with a lot of yawning and scratching and a tinkle. After that, the two travelers settled into the quickly formed routine of the short journey, and eventually Owen began offering a few tips to Speed about hunting.

 

Speed felt confident in his hunting ability, after all he’d been doing it for several years. But Owen’s knowledge and experience quickly highlighted the fact that he still had much to learn. Always before he had learned by trial and error, and empty stomachs. With Owen’s help, there should be a lot fewer errors and a whole lot fewer supperless nights. Speed treasured the insights like a mare did a new foal.

 

When Owen finally pointed out a well-traveled deer trail, he said, “Try to be quiet. We should be able to spot a deer pretty quickly.”

 

The duo followed the trail, Owen silent as snowfall with Speed doing his best to imitate it. Sooner than Speed could have hoped, they saw a deer in the distance. They had a good view of it, and it was completely calm as it savored the salt lick that was obviously a favorite stop on this track. It was a decent sized deer, and judging by the short velvety knobs on its head it was a buck just starting to grow his antlers for the year.

 

Speed turned to look at Owen, who whispered ever so softly, “Speed, the rest is up to you. Just forget that I’m here, and let’s see if we can find something to eat besides another rabbit.”

 

With a wide smile, Speed accepted the challenge, and began the stalk.

 

He fixed his gaze just off to the side of the deer and flitted slowly from tree to tree, like a shadow. For some reason, he had learned that deer seemed to “feel it” if you stared right at them, so he was careful not to make that mistake. This was the first time on the trip that he felt entirely comfortable with the task at hand, except for the running of course. He moved patiently, and slowly, always freezing motionless if the deer raised its head and only moving again once he dropped it. It was easier than most would think, especially once he had noticed a couple of years ago that deer almost always flicked their tail real fast right before they raised their head.

 

Moments passed. Or was it minutes? He didn’t know or care. All he knew was that the deer was in range. With the relaxed, comfortable knowledge of years of experience, he began his slow routine. He felt his heartbeat pounding as the tension built, and he remembered to breath. He pulled an arrow from its quiver, nocked it, and pulled the bowstring back behind his ear.

 

He didn’t notice doing any of it. And neither did the deer. As the tail flicked rapidly and the deer began to raise its head for a look around, Speed let fly the arrow.

 

It blossomed like a feather rose of death just behind the deer’s left foreleg, and two desperate leaps later the deer was dead on the ground. He hadn’t made it out of the small clearing.

 

It wasn’t a particularly warm day, but Speed’s head was beaded with sweat. It was always like that after a hunt for some reason. But now the hard, messy part started. Gutting the deer and hauling it back home.