Mannat returned back home tired, slathered in the dirt, hopeless. The hunt was unsuccessful. He opened the door and went into the kitchen, leaving mud prints all over the wooden floor that creaked disenchanted, and screamed at him for being such a bully!

--clean it? Mannat shook his head. Later, he thought. He wanted to go straight to the well to take a bath but decided to restrain himself. The villagers no longer looked the same at him. He didn’t want them to blame him unreasonably. What if they said he poisoned the well or something along those lines. There were many such cases nit eh stories he’d read. He was not being paranoid, but vigilant. He didn’t want to provoke the villager's wraith, because fear could easily turn the best of men into criminals.

In one such story, a beggar had found the king's signet ring in an alley behind the whorehouse and decided to return it. He was a poor old man, but a man of principles. The beggar arrived at the castle to return the ring, but the soldiers captured him. They tortured him until he admitted to having stolen the ring, and was beheaded. His body was hung in the city center to show the king's anger. The king personally awarded the soldiers who had allegedly hunted the beggar and found the signet. The turn of events happened because the king feared the beggar would not keep his mouth shut about where he’d found the ring.

Although it was just a story, Mannat believed it was not fictional; rather a depiction of the truth that fear can take down even the best of us. He still wondered if he had picked the wrong sort of book. There was no way it was a children’s book – even if the style and the cover depicted it as such.

Anyways, Mannat washed up in the garden and ate the left over’s from last night –Gande had really overestimated their capacity to eat meat. He wasn’t sure if his father would need to cook again for a few more days, granted the food didn’t spoil first.

It was only after he had rested for a while did he lock the front door and left for his father’s smithy. It took him more willpower to stand from bed than it does to study. He was exhausted.

His father was comparing two arrows when he entered the workshop. Raesh was in such a deep concentration that wrinkles had appeared on his forehead. Though the arrows looked similar apart, they had many differences when compared placed side by side. Raesh was continuing over from where they had left yesterday -- only that with Mannat’s absence, and no one to guide him, he alone wasn’t good enough to replicate yesterday's triumph.

“Is it not working out?” Mannat said. His voice broke Raesh’s trance. Raesh’s frown disappeared when the man saw him and a smile replaced it.

“There you are! I thought you weren’t coming today.” Raesh said.

“You look happy.”

“Of course, I am happy! You don’t know how long my job has been stuck on level 4. Not only did I learn a new skill, but the skill increases pending for the last half a decade also came all at once. Now I’m already a level 7 Master blacksmith. You tell me if I should be happy or not?”

Mannat was surprised. He hadn’t practiced his blacksmithing long enough to reach level 5. Therefore, he didn’t know leveling up could release new skills.

He nodded in understanding and noticed his father looking at him in expectation. Did he want something? “Do you need my help?” Mannat asked. Unexpectedly, his father frowned.

“What is it?” Mannat asked again. This time he was slightly worried. Did his father know about his little early morning adventure?

However, the reason behind his father’s disappointment was something entirely different from his thoughts. “Don’t you want to know about my new skill?” The bearded man almost sounded like a kid showing off his new toy. Mannat found himself smiling. His father sure had a way about things.

Mannat relented. “Can you tell me about your new skill, father?” He said, and Raesh sprung into action.

“It’s called replicate and it allows me to replicate the object I once made. The degree of replication and the time taken depends upon the skill level.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Mannat looked between the two arrows, nodding. “So that’s why they don’t look the same.”

“Yes,”

“But will you be fine with telling me about your skill?”

Raesh scoffed at him as if he had just heard a joke. “I’m a blacksmith.” He said with pride, shoulders wide and chest out. “Why would I hide my skills? The orders I get depends upon the skills I have. And with replicate, I can finally call myself a master blacksmith.” Raesh grinned, held Mannat’s shoulders, and shook him silly. He was bulging with happiness, and then suddenly he was not.

“Now it’s your turn,” Raesh said, still smiling, but with a hardened set of eyes that seemed to look right through Mannat. “I heard you met the old man in the early morning?”

Mannat was taken back. “How do you know?”

“Gande told me,” Raesh spoke plainly, quickly, waiting for his son to come clear.

“Pandit…” Mannat mumbled. It was his lack of judgment on his part. He wondered what to tell the man, and then simply decided to come out with the truth. His father got him all right. His mother used to do this ‘I told you, now you tell me,’ thing. His father had definitely learned a few things from her. He could almost see the pain he had suffered at the hands of her.

Mannat said, “The witch gave me a task.” He paused, wondering if he should tell him about the rabbit. His mind told him it was not a thing worth hiding. “She asked me to hunt a rabbit in the old man Sardar’s farm.”

Raesh was instantly interested, not in the story, but the follow-up. “Did you meet him?” he asked.

“We did,” Mannat explained before his father could question. “…but we didn’t talk about us.”

Raesh clicked his tongue. “That’s a shame.” He said. His disappointment was as loud as his voice. He pulled back. “Do you remember the story I told you?” Raesh asked. Mannat curtly nodded and his father visibly relaxed. “Then I have nothing more to say.” He said. “Let the adults handle adult matters. You worry about the things between you and the girl. You will have to take care of it on your own. Whatever you do, don’t leave her hopeful if you aren’t sure. Sometimes--” Raesh hesitated then gravely added, “A bitter end is far better than a life of bitterness.”

Mannat’s heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes and made up his mind. When he raised his head next, he was determined.

“Looks like you have made your decision,” Raesh commented.

Mannat smiled. His father put a hand on his shoulder. They stood together in silence for a few seconds before Raesh pulled his hand back and jerked his head toward the furnace, gesturing Mannat to follow him.

“Let’s get to work.”

Mannat stayed in the smithy with his father until noon. This time, they experimented with the temperature of the block, along with its weight. Though Mannat didn’t gain another level in ‘inspect’, he was learning, and learning fast. Because he could check the dimensions of the arrowhead as it took shape, Mannat learned how, when, and where his father hammered the arrowhead to shape it in the least number of strikes possible. That was the second goal Raesh had established for himself. The new skill had done wonders for the man and his enthusiasm.

Mannat sharpened and polished the arrows while his father worked. The barrel with the forged arrowheads was slowly starting to fill up. In a few more day’s it would be half full.

Later, Raesh dropped Mannat at the clearing and picked up the bucket of carrots and potatoes that the boy had harvested previously. He was happy to receive them.

Mannat didn’t see the raven, but he was sure it had returned with him. The Witch had again disappeared off to somewhere and he was thankful for that. He didn’t know how to face her. It was the first job she had given and he had failed at it so miserably they didn’t even find the rabbit.

Pandit and he had spent a lot of time digging the holes, and found nothing more than dirt for their trouble. Mannat wanted to plow the land with a buffalo, but the old man disagreed. He told them there were too many burrows and the risk of the buffalo getting injured was too much for him to risk it.

According to Sardar, the first of such potholes appeared four months ago when they had just harvested rice and plowed the land to let the soil regain its strength. It was Sharmilla who found it. Three months later she came back scared and they had left the land as such ever since.

Many people came and tried to fix the cause of it, but no one could do anything.

“Maybe they were looking at the wrong time,” Pandit said and it got the attention of the other two. For that reason, they decided to meet again at night and see if they could find anything.