The first time Rusk decided to try and be a hero, he was walking the path from his cottage to the schoolhouse when he spotted a group of obvious bullies tormenting a girl with brown, mousy coloration. She sported a long braid, already had a gift for sewing at age seven, and was carrying with her a bag she'd obviously made herself, such was the craftsmanship. Around her neck was a chain with a collection of keys for its pendants. She was a talent, and Rusk already liked her before he ever spoke to her. He’d watch her from his place at the back of the classroom sometimes instead of paying attention to the lesson, because she was just that pretty.

So when he saw the group of his schoolmates towering over and around her like a pack of hungry monsters, he marched up to them and told them to get lost.

"Who's gonna stop us?" The biggest one leaned forward to meet Rusk’s level, or to show how much taller he was. “A string bean twerp like you?”

"I am going to stop you," said Rusk, making a point to speak with formality instead of using the usual schoolyard lingo. He could feel the girl squirming behind him but he knew better than to glance back and leave himself open to attack. That was a lesson he'd learned last time, when this very same group of bullies had gone after him on the first day of classes. "Leave her alone. You're dealing with a hero."

The group of bullies erupted in laughter.

"A hero, he says!"

"Fat chance."

"A hero who's gonna lose!"

And then they were on him, but he fought valiantly, as a hero does, or at least how he imagined a hero would, picturing Iya Tarfell and the elegant swing of her sword. He managed a hard blow to the largest bully's face and sent him careening backward, eliciting a squeak of surprise from the girl. Rusk felt her almost interfere and then think better of it. He could tell this by her posture, the way she inched forward, more of her body heat coming closer, before immediately shrinking away back around the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Pisseater!" said the largest bully. "Little worm got my nose!"

Then they were on Rusk again, and he didn't have time to react before he lost his footing. He tripped and landed hard on the ground, and couldn’t scramble back up to his feet fast enough. A shoe plunged into his stomach and then another clocked his cheek. Sudden white hot pain blossomed in his ribs and all down the side of his face where he’d been struck. He thought he felt something crunch. The bullies took their time roughing him up, kicking him while he was down, using every opportunity to assert their dominance, and then they grew bored when he could no longer retaliate besides raising his scarred, skinny arms to block. They forgot about the girl, made their final jeers at Rusk, and then wandered down the path through the forest toward the wooden schoolhouse that sat quaintly at the end of the beaten-dirt road.

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The girl stayed behind. She tried to help Rusk up, but he couldn't get his feet under him and fell back down. It was hard to get air into his lungs, each breath more painful and gasping than the last.

"Sorry," said the girl. "Sorry, I didn't know anyone was going to come and help me. I thought I'd just let them take whatever they wanted and get it over with. I didn’t care about the bag. I could make another. I would've run, if I knew you’d get yourself pummeled."

"But you shouldn't have to run from guys like them. They’re jerks. And I’m not pummeled, see?" Rusk tried once again to stand and winced, but managed to get himself upright completely by leaning further into the girl’s shoulder. "Besides, if I wanna be a hero then I gotta learn to take a few hits, right?"

The girl looked him up and down and pulled her bottom lip under her teeth, and it was the cutest expression Rusk had ever seen on anyone in his entire life. His breath came back to him all at once like a breeze swelling fresh life into hot, sweltering day.

"I'm okay," said Rusk, trying to make his voice sound deeper. Difficult for an eight-year-old, especially after taking a beating, but he wanted to reassure her. "Really. Um. Thanks for helping me up. We should get to the schoolhouse. We're gonna be late."

Neither of them started down the path. They looked on with trepidation. The forest was well-lit this time of midmorning, and the dew on each leaf twinkled in the warm sun, but that didn’t mean there were no monsters around. They couldn’t see the schoolhouse from where they were because the path wound around a bend, and the bullies were long gone as well. Bullies were monsters of their own, but at least they were human. The bend swelled and shrank in Rusk’s vision. They were alone.

"How come you want to be a hero?” said the girl. “Don’t you know heroes have bad luck?"

“I’ve heard.” Rusk puffed out his chest as best he could while still leaning most of his weight on her, the scars on his arms paler than the rest of his skin under the sunlight that dripped through the canopy. "If heroes flee from bad luck, then the people they protect get the brunt of it."

The girl made a contemplative noise and then wiped a clump of dirt off her dress. The seams of the dress were too perfect to have been made by anyone but her, and to Rusk she smelled like whatever heaven must smell like. "I'm Mandra," she said and held out her hand with as much reverence as she could with the awkward way they were holding onto each other. “But you can call me Mandy.”

"Rusk," said Rusk, and so help him he could feel his face flush red. "I've had a crush on you since the first day."

Mandy laughed. She had a full laugh, not a giggle. It sent the chain full of keys around her neck all clinkering. Together they shambled the rest of the way up to the schoolhouse, deciding in a silent agreement from then on to remain friends, to stick together.

And they would’ve, if nothing had gone wrong.