---Lorgul’s perspective---

With my entire clan silently watching me, I step over the stave of elm I’ve just spent three days pairing to shape.

Easily bending it around my leg, I hook the looped string into the top notch and raise the bow.

I pinch the end of one of the long, straight sticks in the bag at my waist, just above the ember trimmed feathers lashed around it.

Bringing it up to thread through the gap between the belly and the string, I nock it and hook my fingers around it to the top and bottom.

I consciously exhale a foggy breath.

Narrowing my eyes, I aim, draw back to the firehardened end and… release!

The arrow veers about three paces wide of the rotten stump I was aiming at and skips over the snow crust before burying itself.

Disappointed and ashamed to have missed my first shot in front of my entire family, I turn to the absurdly tall man watching me… only to be surprised to see his eery face looking pleased?

“Not bad!” he praises.

I frown and gesture over to where the feathered end sticks out from the snow and point out “I missed…?”

He bobs his face down and up once, acknowledging “Yes you did, Lorgul… but your release was clean and you honestly got closer than I thought you would on your first go!… You come out here for, say, a thousand breaths every slow day, I reckon you’ll be able to hit that stump at this distance every time by the end of Summer!…One pointer though…” he reaches out to tap his long, slender palm against my upper arm “…you’re still drawing mainly from here!”

He walks behind me and pats the bottom of my right shoulderblade “Here’s where you need to be drawing from!… Less important on a beginner’s bow but if you ever want to progress to a bow anything like mine, that technique won’t cut it… Try again and engage your shoulder this time.”

I sigh, draw another arrow, nock it, breathe out and, making a conscious effort to do so, draw back while forcing my shoulder to do most of the work.

It’s much easier but… focusing on that means my aim is even worse than the first time.

“Better!” the tangy smelling outland man beams, clapping his hands together “Now… if you’ll just run me through the rules I gave you one more time, I think my companion and I will collect our leather tarp and rations and be on our way!”

“Uhm… Alright?… Rule one) Even a beginners bow is a deadly weapon… so always clear the range before practice? Check behind every tree in case someone’s hiding there and call out that I’m about to start shooting?”

He cocks an eyebrow and answers “Are you asking me or telling me?”

A bit irritated that he’s picking me up on my tone, I retort “I’m telling you!”

He gives that smug smile of his and says “Good! You’re telling me correctly!… Rule two?”

“Don’t overtrain… I’ll injure myself. If I start feeling twinges anywhere, that’s my cue to stop!” I answer, careful not to intone it as a question.

“Correct. Next?”

“If I do injure myself, I’ve got to give the injury as much time as necessary before I’m back at full strength. Don’t do anything to strain it or I could do permanent damage.”

“Indeed! Rules four, five, six and seven. Go!” he grins.

“Wait until I can hit the stump twenty consecutive times in a row before moving back ten paces. Don’t wait until this bow breaks before making another one to keep the skills fresh in my mind. Use firehardened arrows until I’m good enough to hunt with it, then switch to microliths. Teach all the rules to anyone I teach and make sure they respect them too.” I rattle off.

“Excellent, Lorgul!” beams my tutor, clapping me on the shoulder “If we ever meet again, I expect you shall make me proud! Now…?” he turns to face my clan.

My aunt steps forward with a large, folded piece of weatherproofed leather and my dad with a satchell of nut flour, dried fruit and meat.

“As promised, lanklet.” grins my aunt handing over the improved shelter roof.

“Remember, anyone asks, you barely escaped this forest with your lives(!)” grins my dad “We like our privacy(!)”

“Of course, of course(!)” chuckles the man, taking the payment “Only bloodthirsty, exiled killers here(!) I’ll warn everyone who asks away!… Though, if any of you ever fancy a change of scenery, you would be welcome as guests of my people!”

My dad belly laughs and answers “We’ll bear that in mind, Bear Bane!… Now, off with you before you waste the whole damn day(!)”

The man bobs his head again before looking over to the sour faced biter.

She steps forward, their bags on her back, her strangely tipped spear in her left hand and the giant, jingling willow basket of charcoal in the other.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

She wordlessly hands him the large container and, as soon as he has it, holds the same hand out for the supply satchel.

She slings it over her back as he unties and opens the lid before placing the tarp in with their charcoal and digging stick.

He fastens it back up and lifts the whole thing to wear on his back, pushing his arrow bag to hang from his right shoulder.

With one last turn for the man to wish us all “Goodbye!” (the biter turning too but staying silent) the pair of them resume their journey South.

---Dirleya’s perspective---

*Thump**thump**thump**thump**thump**thump* comes a sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard, echoing from the West.

I’m just looking in that direction and about to get up to investigate when Wulra rips open the door to the herb hut, Korbu on her hip.

“Ma’am…!” says the terrified woman, panting hard “…they’re here!”

I rise to my feet, not reflecting her alarm outwardly (though I definitely feel it inwardly), put on my headdress and step from the building.

Looking through the gap between the sleeping hut and the store hut, I try to catch a glimpse of the arriving force.

They got here quickly!

My daughterman’s message only arrived here from Bison last night with that Wolf boy… I had assumed they’d take another few days but getting here now suggests that they met him as he backtracked back along the path home… like they were already waiting at the boarder with Wolf and crossed the instant they had permission!

For a moment, I think it’s a little frightening that they could catch up to a message they gave a two day headstart on a week long journey!

As I catch my first sight of them however, the fear of their speed over country is utterly overshadowed by a new fear entirely!

I watch them as they approach, three lines of outlanders, each line…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen long!

The first twelve ranks are all fully bedecked in padded leather clothing, looking as if it would do well at protecting its wearer from most kinds of injury, carrying spears and tall wooden shields, all extending from knee to eye level, all bearing the same painted pattern of concentric circles on the front.

At first, it looks as if every single one of them is righthanded… then I notice that the backmost row of spearwielders is reversed… meaning that, of the thirty six, they only have three lefthanded folk?

Behind the spears, there are two rows of even more heavily padded, large men (I see no women among them) each wielding a two handed club.

Behind them, the backmost two rows of all are the most terrifying!

Six of what I recognise as bowwielders march there!

Just that many users of that frightful weapon could massacre my entire clan in the space of a hundred breaths on their own, I would guess!

The column marches in perfect rhythmic lockstep, which is what’s making that repetitive clomping sound.

Despite their variety of heights, all but one of them are perfectly matching their stride length to the rest, allowing them to stamp in time with eachother while staying in formation… It’s as if they’d measured out forty nine pieces of identical lengths of rope and each tied their own ankles together!

The one who isn’t marching in time is also both the oldest (I’m guessing in her forties as compared with the others, all in their twenties and early thirties, but it’s hard to tell exactly) and the least terrifying looking by far!

Despite her age and her position as one of the two marching apart from and in front of this column, I can see she is not the one in charge here!

That distinction would have to go to the grim faced woman beside her!

Early twenties, spear and shield, wooden greaves on her shins and padded leather everywhere else!

Unlike the rest, her hat is adorned with a pair of short antlers, letting me know it must have some kind of internal frame to support them and marking her out visually from the rest.

Her face is reminiscent of the boy who, half a Moon ago, gave me a much more pleasant version of an outlander’s visit… and on whose account these fifty are here now!

Their spears all sway in time with eachother as forty nine right feet hit the ground at once, followed by forty nine left feet!

None of them even glance in the direction of me or anyone else in my hearthstead as, at first, it looks like they might just follow the road along the North side of the buildings and keep lockstep marching their way East!

The antlered woman, however, makes it most of the way across the hearthstead before screaming “WEKEEEEET AN!” in words I can infer the meaning of by the fact that the entire column comes to a dead stop!

In profile, I’m able to see each one of them carries a large satchel on their backs that must contain all the provisions they need for their journey.

“ENEREEEEEZ ZGEN!” cries the same woman, snapping into a right turn and matched by her entire guard of forty eight (like everything I’ve seen them do) in perfect unison!

I’m ashamed to say I flinch!

Facing us now, I see that the shields form a sort of… wall along the line of them?

“Qetna!” she shouts without screaming.

The sixteen long, three deep formation visibly relaxes but stays standing right where it is.

The antlered woman and the unarmed, unarmoured one begin walking in my direction.

I force myself to project calm as the looming women approach (the older as tall as a good portion of my kind’s men, the younger taller still than that!)

Wulra does not do as good a job as me, audibly quailing.

The tall, antlered woman stares down at me with a stony expression before opening her mouth to say “Bwey. Ksem sister. You Dirleya?” with thickly accented speech while thrusting her palm in my direction.

Gently, I bring my own up to meet it, feeling its warmth as I answer “I am Dirleya. Welcome to Golden Eagle.”

“Hm!” she grunts, mirthlessly, before continuing “I not good for speak… You hear it! Zgrizeh here for help speak.” gesturing to the older woman.

Her demeanour respectful and her speech much more easily comprehended, the unarmed woman explains “It is a pleasure to meet you, Shamaness. My name is Zgrizeh and I will be acting as your translator when you talk to the wardeness. We hope to avoid miscommunications this way.”

“I understand completely and thank you for your service. Would your… erm… hunters care to come in?”

The antlered woman looks to the older one and says something in their language.

The older one listens before translating “The wardeness requests the use of your hearth for our contingent to cook with. They have not eaten today. They will use their own fuel and food.”

“Of course.” I allow, appreciating the small courtesy amidst this devastatingly effective show of force “You may use it as if it were your own! I can have Wulra bring some of our fuel if you wish… though, with so many, I’m afraid we would struggle to feed you all.”

The translator translates and then back “This is appreciated but unnecessary, the wardeness says. We shall gladly use our own.”

“Meq ne’ents erad! Bwerez!” shouts the wardeness, causing her force to break from their position and trudge forward to the fireplace.

“Shall we talk inside?” I suggest to the two women, calmly gesturing the herb hut.

“Good.” answers the antlered woman.

“That would be agreeable.” softens the translator.

I turn to walk in that direction but my attention immediately snaps to the firepit as I hear a jingling rattle.

I look to see an entire bag of… charcoal being emptied out by one of the outlanders?

How odd!

I recover my momentarily lapsed attention and step inside.