DAY 15

Jordan and I had settled into a familiar routine. In the mornings I would clean the forge and assist with some of the crating. He would do the occasional more complicated orders, and explain what tools were needed. One of the lessons was that for best results you wanted a tool that was made of a stronger material than the thing you were crafting. His tools were mostly steel, and had cost him quite a bit of money, but they lasted much longer than using iron tools to craft iron items. Some things didn’t require tools, depending on certain factors. He got a lot of amusement out of watching me wedge my claws into a piece of firewood and split it without an axe, or gnaw on a stick and somehow make it as straight and smooth as if I had used woodworking tools. Even though he was stronger than me, apparently the claws counted as basic tools for the purposes of laughing in the face of physics. It also explained part of why goblins could chew through wood and even stone, though slowly. It wasn't that we were strong enough to crush stone, in a weird way it was like the differences got averaged.

One interesting thing I noted is that even though I didn't necessarily need woodworking tools to carve or cut, they improved the results. The things I made myself all seemed to have a characteristic style to them, a simple primitive element. Stone tools were the same. My claws could carve the same as a stone hatchet might, but both were outperformed by iron or steel tools.

In the afternoons I’d explore the forests nearby, hunting for rabbits and birds. My stone-flinging skills had improved enough that I had even odds of hitting a bird as long as it wasn’t moving. The monster, whatever it had been, didn’t come back again. This was the first afternoon when I felt like I had enough materials for my plan. I had turned a few rabbit hides into a pair of crude pouches, which I now had stuffed with feathers and sinews. The next pair of rabbits I turned into a small backpack.

As I walked back towards the forge, I kept an eye out for likely looking sticks. I had gotten much better at “processing” them, and it barely took any concentration at all to turn a rough branch into a neat and straight stick. I gathered up as many of these as I could carry, which turned out to be twenty.

I dumped them all onto the workbench, and then emptied the pouch of feathers onto the pile. From the corner I retrieved the crate I had been keeping my crafting projects in. It was filled with iron arrowheads. I dumped it onto the pile, and one by one started combining everything into arrows.

I had tested a rabbit hide quiver a few nights ago, and quickly realized it was just too weak for iron arrows. They would easily stab right through it. Jordan had recommended deer hide. He didn’t have any on hand, which lead me to my plans for tomorrow. In the morning tomorrow, instead of helping in the forge, I’d be going deer hunting.

For tonight though I would be practicing archery. Even though the quality of my equipment had improved since my first crude attempts, it was still a bit unfamiliar. I carried a bundle of arrows out to a hay bale set near the path leading to the road, and tied a wood disk onto it.

My legs were shorter than they had been in a previous life, but I counted out ten paces, nocking an arrow I brought up the aim assist. The red line was a bit shaky as I drew and held the arrow, but when I got my hand anchored against my jaw the arc solidified and the arrow landed right where I wanted it to. Putting five arrows into the wooden target was extremely easy. At least it was easy right up until a five meter distance, which was coincidentally the exact same range as my slingshot, or just throwing a rock, or a thrown javelin.

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Collecting the arrows I walked out to as close to ten meters as I could estimate, nocked an arrow and drew it back. The aim assist trajectory fuzzed, refusing to let me aim until I dismissed it. Another one of the bits of weirdness here, it didn't seem to like the idea of long distance attacks. Without the aim guide assistance, I relied on my own experience. The arrows hit close enough that I was happy.

I repeated the process at fifteen meters, and when I reached twenty meters, I paused for a short break to stretch. This was still very close by competition standards, the World Cup target distance was seventy meters, and my usual range back home had been thirty meters.

I'd never been anywhere close to good enough to compete, but on occasion I had been able to get decent accuracy on a paper pie plate out to fifty meters.

It probably wasn't a coincidence that the suggested range was less than where forest animals would have a decent chance of noticing you, which then required sneaking close enough, or just blitzing in and hoping to catch them surprised and get a good hit before they ran.

That was not what I wanted to do. First off it was way too slow. Sometimes it might take an hour or more to track a rabbit, sneak up on it, and take a shot with the aim guide. Even then, while that close I'd only get one shot off before they spotted me. If the animal was travelling there was no way to sneak fast enough to catch up to it. That method would likely never be able to work on large game, even on average deer, let alone a moose or an elk or bear.

I needed more. More range, far enough that they weren't guaranteed to spot me as soon as I took my shot. Even a few extra seconds could be the difference between being mauled and a successful hunt without injury.

I took a few more paces back to about twenty five meters and took aim. Focusing on the plate I brought the bow back up, drew, and fired. The arrow skittered into the ground just shy of the bale. I frowned and examined my next arrow, a bit annoyed that I had no real information about it like weight or stiffness, or what the draw weight of the bow was. I knew how it felt, but I was also smaller and weaker than normal, this could very well be a fifteen pound draw weight and it just felt the way fifty used to.

Nocking, I tried again, adjusting my point of aim up. With my next dozen arrows I gradually walked my point of aim up until they were hitting the disk.

Stretching, I realized I was feeling pretty okay. Stronger than even just a few days before, without the strong hunger and exhaustion. Not too long ago I would probably be exhausted from this. As I walked back to collect the arrows I was feeling pretty confident so this time I went a bit farther, to thirty meters.

I did five rounds of five arrows at thirty meters, and called it break time. The piece of wood was just about falling apart anyways. Another few shots and it might break entirely. By now the soreness was setting in. Whatever surplus of energy I had was gone and I flopped onto the grass.

The stars were shimmering as vividly as they always did here. I idly wondered if they were actual stars, or if you'd hit some sort of ceiling. They didn't seem to show any movement as I watched for a few minutes, none of the satellites or high altitude aircraft I had grown accustomed to seeing. As I lay there, a nagging feeling grew in my mind. Not uncomfortable like the headaches had been, but just lurking on my awareness.

Hopping up I walked over and collected the arrows, and instead of using my quiver I held several in my bow hand. It felt appropriate for some reason, and the nagging feeling vanished. Starting at thirty meters I took one shot and then started walking closer, every few paces taking another shot without pausing to aim. It had been a while since I'd done this, but it was an effective test of my ability to react to changes in distance.

The wooden disk broke apart when I tried to pull an arrow out, disintegrating into splinters and dropping the remaining arrows onto the ground. While I was picking them up a peculiar sensation tickled my awareness. It was vague, a feeling of anticipation that I didn't think was connected to my plans for tomorrow.

Cautiously I assessed myself for signs that another parasitic psychic worm had gotten to be, or hatched, or whatever. This felt different. Less like a compulsion and more like I was just not understanding a hint.

Nothing unusual was in sight as I looked around. Sighing, I put the arrows in my quiver and started to unstring the bow before I stopped to wonder if these bows even needed it. That seemed like it might be an unnecessary bit of realism. I left the bow strung and stashed it in the forge before going to wash my face at the well.