Several weeks had passed since Teng did that which haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He thought back to it. The exhilaration, the sensation of being alive, the pure joy of that strike as his arms burst forth; only for all that to fall away as he regained his senses. How Teng, not aware of his actions, so consumed by the fight, had thrust the fighting stick right through Bai’s thigh.

Bai. The kind, jovial young man who took time out of his day to train them, bloody on the ground because of him and him alone.

Teng fainted after the incident, but Jirki brought him back to consciousness by slapping him and pulling him to his feet. Together, they had carried Bai back to the village. Kai having wrapped a piece of soft leather over the thigh to stem the blood. Reaching Grandma Pana’s hut, they told her about the boar, how Bai had protected them and chased the boar away, but was wounded in the attack.

Grandma had frowned as she readied a fur mat and supplies to treat wounds, but had said nothing. She had kicked them out, and Kai had walked up to him outside, fist clenched, body trembling. Teng had stood there, breathless, staring into his friend’s blazing eyes. It had been a tense moment, and Teng had thought Kai would hit him, a strike Teng wouldn’t even have tried to dodge. Instead, Kai had turned on his heel and stormed away, Toff, Pratt and Jirki following him.

Teng had wandered aimlessly until he found himself in the hut, alone, hollow. He had curled up in his blanket, crying, much like he did now, though this time no tears came, just the silent moaning of his soul. His father was out hunting this time of day, and his mother was helping the women prepare for the ritual to mark the boys’ transition into manhood.

The other boys would not speak to him, and had not since the accident. Kai would not even glance at him. Only Jirki would sometimes look at him and give him a tight smile, though nothing more.

Teng had not glanced at the feathers and bones even once since then. Every time his aching mind thought about them, the hollowness inside of him became even deeper and darker, like a pit, a pit that grew deeper in his solitude.

“Teng?” a voice called from outside the tent. “Are you here?”

“Delia?”

The young girl bowed and entered from the tent flap. Her green eyes, which sometimes sparkled like green leaves covered in morning dew, did not sparkle nor gleam, and seemed more like muddy water. She watched him for a moment, then sat down beside him. She sat in silence for a moment, fidgeted with her hair, then turned to him.

“What happened?”

“A boar,” he said in a listless mutter.

“I mean the actual story.”

The boy swallowed, but didn’t glance at her.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Are we not friends? Friends speak their minds to each other. Maybe I can help you.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Too late… to stop the boar?”

Teng grunted, shook his head, then exhaled. “It wasn’t a boar.”

He remembered the time Bai had stayed with him late after training, showing him how to grip the stick properly. The way he laughed when Teng tripped, always patient, always kind. Then the scene shattered and Bai’s pale face appeared, the pool of blood, the anger in Kai’s eyes. The moment of utter despair when Teng realized he had done something irrevocable.

“So… if it wasn’t a boar, then… What was it? Can you tell me?

Teng could not bring himself to look at Delia; he was afraid to see the judgment there, the disgust, the anger, the disappointment.

“Bai was teaching us the fighting stick,” he began. “Preparing us for the ceremony. We were using real fighting sticks for the first time. I–I got caught up in the fight.”

There was a brief pause. “I see. Did you mean what you did?” she asked.

The boy shook his head fiercely, his eyes stinging. “They hate me now.”

”They will understand, Teng. They just... need time. Like you do.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “But you’re still you, and they’ll remember that.”

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Teng feared the answer but had to ask. “Will he be able to walk again?”

“Pana says he will need to use a walking stick for the rest of his life,” Delia said and put a hand on Teng’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Teng.”

The boy looked up at her. There was no anger or disgust in her eyes, just sadness. He shook once, twice, then put his head in his laps and choked on tears that came with hacking breaths.

He felt Delia’s arms around him as she held him. When he had finished crying, she let him go from the hug. “You should go see him.”

Teng shook his head. The hollow pit in his stomach reappeared. The mere thought of facing Bai after the incident made him want to puke.

“You must,” she said and smiled sadly at him. “I know it’s hard, but he deserves that much– and so do you.”

Teng nodded.

“I must go now. Think about what I said.”

Teng heard the flap to the hut close as she left him. The boy sat there for a while, gathering courage or fortitude or simply dragging it out. He didn’t know himself. He closed his eyes and pressed his eyelids together as hard as he could, then exhaled and stood.

The village was full of life and movement. People smiled and jested, going about their tasks in a joviality Teng did not feel. He felt like an outsider as he walked across the village toward Bai’s hut. The sun stood high in the sky and shone brightly, but he was cold. He felt as if everyone was looking at him, imagining them whispering about how he crippled Bai. Some tried to speak with him, yet gave up when he walked past without a word.

He stood outside Bai’s hut for a time. His heart pounded and his mind screamed for him to turn back and run away. He stood gathering courage, but did not find it. He remembered Delia’s words, “He deserves that much at least.”, then inhaled deeply and called out.

“Come in,” the weary voice of Bai came from inside the hut.

Entering the sparse hut, he sat down opposite the young man yo lay in his furs. The tears came again, unbidden and salty, but he wiped them away with his hands. Looking at the young man, he noticed his face had regained color. Deep circles surrounded his eyes, and his hair was tangled in a mess.

What do you say to someone you have crippled? What do you say when you know you have damaged someone so brutally, they will never completely recover from the injury? These questions swirled around in his mind like a storm and would not abate.

In the end, all he could do was bow his head and apologize.

“Sit,” Bai said after a long time.

Teng sat, but couldn’t look at the man. His head hung low, tears gathering around his eyes.

“Look at me, Teng,” Bai said.

And so Teng did. There was pain there, in the younger man’s eyes. Frustration and even regret. But no hate, no malice. Teng wanted to speak, but found no words. The man gave him a tight smile from where he lay.

“Sometimes things happen that are outside of our control,” Bai said. “I won’t lie, Teng—I am hurt. I will never walk again, but I know this wasn’t what you wanted.”

The man sighed and gestured at him. “The way you fought, how you moved, how you reacted—you have something I don’t understand locked inside you. And that thing came out that day; its only purpose was to win.”

Pale blue eyes locked onto Teng’s own.

“I will not blame you. I pushed you, and the thing inside you reacted. But, if you are to become a hunter, if you wish to live in this village, you must learn to control it. You must be in control. Always.

Teng began heaving from the emotion that came from hearing his friend’s words. Yes, his friend. Who he had put into such a state.

“I–” he began.

“Listen to me, Teng.” Bai interrupted as he rose slightly from his position on the ground, then exhaled a shuddering breath, grimacing, and lay down again. “Kai does not hate you. The other boys don’t hate you. They are afraid, as would I be if I ever were to fight you again… but I suppose that will not happen again…” the man smiled self-deprecatingly. “You know, after the tiger mauled my shoulder, I always dreamed of once again being a hunter. I learned to fight with one arm. It’s hard to accept that dream’s over.”

Bai looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then turned back to Teng, his gaze steady. “Become a hunter, Teng—promise me this. Make this count. Learn to control this power you have and use it to protect the village.”

He paused, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position on the mat, his voice softer but more serious. “This can’t be undone. I will never walk again. But if you ever want to repay me for training you, making up for taking away my chance to hunt again, then be what I once was. A hunter. Not only that—be better. Become someone who can protect our village against anything.”

“Will you do this for me?”

Teng nodded. More tears came from his eyes, but he stared back, deep into the other man’s eyes.

“Swear it on the spirits, Teng. Swear you will do this for me.”

“I swear,” Teng said.

Bai nodded, smiling sadly. “I heard from Jirki you have done nothing but stay inside your family’s hut for many weeks now.”

The man pointed to the far wall of the hut, where a fighting stick lay, the same one Teng had wounded his friend with. “Take it. It will remind you of this day. Of your promise. Of what happens when you can’t control yourself. Kai has my other fighting stick and I won’t be needing either."

Teng took a deep breath, then nodded. He held it with shaking hands, then stood in front of Bai once more.

“I will speak with my brother when he comes around next.” Bai said, then gestured for the door. “Now go, train, get ready for the ceremony, feel the sun on your skin. I must rest.”

Teng nodded and bowed low, then escaped the hut, the pit still deep, but not as deep as before. He couldn’t undo what he had done, but he would do everything in his power to do what he had promised Bai he would. The prospect of using the impressions of the wind again, the essence movement, made him think of what he’d done, but he would have no choice. He must learn to control it, and he must become a hunter. He clasped the fighting stick in both hands until his knuckles were white. It was a tradition for the son to be given his father’s fighting stick when the time came for the ritual. Teng would use this one instead, and he would honor his pledge.