A few days after Max had saved him, they take a trip into town and sell Max’s hides and a few Stephen has around his cabin.They use the coin and buy an archery target and a stand for it. Stephen takes it back to the cabin with Max after they stop by the smithy.

  He insists that Max at least inform the smith that he will be staying in the woods. The smith seems not to care, as Max had repeatedly told him, but he feels better doing it anyway. He shows Max how to fire a bow, which isn’t hard, really. He sends Max off to practice, and now he is watching the results.

  Apparently, leaving Max to his own devices is not a good idea. Stephen can’t help but sigh. Max is no more than fifteen feet or so from the target. He has two arrows in his hand while holding the bow, and one in his teeth.

  He rapidly fires the bow while moving and barely aiming. This would simply seem weird if it weren’t for the fact that most of the time, Max manages to actually hit the target. Nowhere near the bullseye for sure, but he actually hits it even while doing random rolls.

  “Stop. Stop.” He can’t take any more and calls out to Max, stopping him. The boy turns and faces him as he exasperatedly looks at Max. “What in the hells are you doing?”

  “Oh! I didn’t know you were there.” Max rubs the back of his head, smiling and laughing. “Where I come from, there is a tribe of warriors. They are known for their unusual fighting skills, like the axes I carry.”

  “After I stopped catching my arm on the bow string and was just trying to improve my aim, I got a little bored. So, I decided to try shooting the bow like they did. I know it probably won’t help much hunting, but in a fight, I thought it might help. I still practice the way you showed me, don’t worry. I just like to try this from time to time, too.”

  Shaking his head, Stephen continues to look at the boy. He has no words. He fights like some savage barbarian, even with a bow! This boy is definitely not normal.

  “If you are going to use the bow in combat.” Stephen sighs before continuing, “Most armor would turn those arrows with how little you are pulling the bow back. You have to put more force behind the arrow to get it to penetrate.”

  Bashfully, Max looks at the ground and kicks a small rock. “Umm, yea, I know it's just…” He trails off without finishing his sentence, hoping that Stephen will leave well enough alone.

  “It's just what?” Seeing the way he is acting, Stephen knows something is up.

  “Well… Drawing it as fast as I am moving and… even rolling… I’m not very good at it. I miss… a lot. So, I thought instead of having to chase the arrows or risk breaking them, I would practice with less power first…”

  Stephen is dumbfounded by this response and takes a moment before he can form words. “So let me get this straight. You know it is very inaccurate, so instead of doing it in a more accurate way, you are simply trying to practice the inaccurate way until it becomes accurate?”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose with one arm crossed, he looks at Max. Is he mad? A fool? What is the meaning of this type of training? His eyes travel from Max to the target, and he cannot help but ask, unsure of which answer he truly wishes to hear. “Has it helped at all?”

  At first, Max hangs his head dejectedly, knowing that he shouldn’t have been playing around as much and practicing the proper way he was shown. Even if he had wanted to try this way, he should have at least mastered the other way first. Hearing the second question, though, he perks up and turns, looking at the target.

  “Yes. At first, I could only land maybe one or two, and now I only miss one or two.” He rubs the back of his head, staring at the target with a weird look on his face.

  Letting out another deep sigh, Stephen looks at the target. The shots were not too terrible. If it had been a person, Max would probably still have missed all of the shots except maybe two, since a person is smaller than the target. Of the two times, they might die but not quickly.

  The method is too crude and not accurate enough. But he did say his aim used to be worse. If he were standing still, I couldn't quite imagine how that could be, but given that he was moving…well, it is a different story. If he can manage to group them, even just double what he currently can, it would be dangerous. Especially if they were unarmored or lightly armored.

  “The grouping is too spread out.” He finally manages to get out.

  “Yea, I noticed it seems to keep pulling down and to the left.” Completely unaware of how exasperated Stephen is, Max continues to look at the arrow placement for a minute before going and retrieving them.

  “Well, have you tried aiming higher and more to the right?”

  The simple question startles Max a bit. “What do you mean? I’ve been trying to hit it the best I can, aiming for the center.”

  Stephen bows his head, covering his face this time. “Do you not recall when I showed you the first day?” Sighing, he walks up and takes the bow and quiver from Max and leads him the proper distance from the target.

  “Watch my stance, boy, now point, draw, and aim. The step I think you are forgetting. Then let the arrow fly.” Stephen purposely hits to the lower left of the bullseye. “Now I missed, didn’t I? Point, draw, aim only this time, since the shot was a couple inches to the left and low. I will aim a couple inches to the right and higher than where I wanted the arrow to go the last time.”

  The arrow hits almost the dead center of the target. “It is called adjusting. While the goal would be for the arrow to go to the center the first time, if you fail to, then the missed arrow works to show you how to correct the aim for the next time.”

  He hands the bow and quiver back to Max, who takes them eagerly. He watches as Max practices what he just taught him. Again. To his astonishment, Max’s accuracy, which wasn’t completely terrible to begin with, once he was firing the proper way again, begins to improve rapidly.

  Are you telling me the boy has been using dumb luck and brute force to try to force the arrows to hit without adjusting? He cannot help but stare at Max’s back and shudder at the idea. If he truly is dumb enough to aim at roughly the same spot over and over again, and just what? Adjust his stance? Maybe angle? And managed to improve at the rate he already was, and I dare point out, while moving, how much more terrifying will that weird bow style be now?

  The next day, Stephen takes Max into the woods. It isn’t good for them to eat all of his food stores now, especially with winter around the corner. As they walk through the woods, Stephen takes the time to point things out to Max. He is surprised at first, though at this point he probably shouldn’t be, at how much Max seems to know about some of the plants.

  Stephen teaches Max which ones are edible and which he can use to help flavor the rabbits they caught. He also teaches him which plants to stay away from and which are poisonous. While Max knows a lot about botany, many of the plants seem different than the ones in his world. He most likely would be fine even if he has to forage for them alone, but Stephen's knowledge helps him refine what he knows. This allows for more practical applications rather than just book knowledge.

  Stephen also begins to teach him about tracks, and how to tell what they were and which way they are heading. He half expects Max to be bored and uninterested in many of the things he is trying to impart to the boy, but he finds Max to be completely receptive to the knowledge. Max even asks questions about things he doesn’t think to mention. He even teaches Max how to recognize the signs of where needleleafs are or have been.

  “For the most part, these types of plants usually grow around where the needleleafs like to stay. While this is not always and they do tend to go on hunts much like we do. That is how they caught me so off guard when we met.”

  “Should we go and clear them out then?”

  “Clear them out? Boy, they are like weeds, more plant than animal. They sprout up seemingly out of nowhere, growing quickly. They look more like a plant than anything else until they mature and burst forth from the ground. Even if we hunted them all day, there would always be more of them. Their meat is not good to eat, and no part of it is really useful. Most times, it is best to just leave them alone unless they are causing trouble.”

  Max listens, nodding, and he asks what the immature plants look like and several more questions about how to spot their habitats. Stephen reckons he has gotten his point across and tells him as much about them as he can so that Max will know the signs of what to avoid. While on the topic of dangerous creatures, he also goes into detail about the local predators. He teaches Max how to avoid them and where they live, and if he has to, how to kill them.

  They do not hunt every day; some days it is just to track, and others just to forage. When they aren’t out in the woods, Max either practices his archery and spear work or helps Stephen around the house. Both Stephen and Max are surprised at how easily Max picks up most of the spear techniques.

  The only thing that gives Max any trouble is throwing it, so that is mostly what he practices. They gather pelts, hides, and any extra meat, and they dry them. They begin to make regular trips into town to trade for things they need or will need as the temperature starts to slowly cool.

  Much like when he trained with the smith, the longer they spend together, the less they seem to have to do. Max begins hunting on his own, mostly for small game, since the deer are almost impossible for him to bring back alone. On some of the trips into the town, he stays with the smith for a few days and helps him with any orders he has. He also makes sure to keep the smithy in a good supply of nails and horseshoes in case they are needed, so that the smith won’t need to make them. He shares some of the game he catches with the smith as well.

  Each time he returns from the trips in which he stays at the smith's house, he returns to the cabin with a new knife. Stephen believes him to be just collecting or making a weird variety of knives and doesn’t realize just how many Max starts carrying on himself regularly.

  Stephen also does not realize that, unlike how he thought when Max had asked about the needleleafs, he isn’t worried or being cautious about them. On any of the hunting trips he takes himself, Max actively looks for and kills any of the needleleafs he can find.

  Stephen might think leaving them be is a good idea, but I know better. Any lone travelers through these woods or any people who might get lost will just become their prey. If their numbers grow, they will also affect the game in the area. It is best to just get rid of the rodents. Max thinks as he clears another patch of them. He finds that most times there are no more than three to five needleleafs in the same area.

  The temperature continues to drop, and now it is getting more than just a little chilly in the mornings while still being hot in the afternoons. Max is getting ready to go hunting alone again today when Stephen approaches. “Max, today I think it is best if we head to the river to hunt.”

  “The river? I don’t think I have even seen a river around here.”

  “It is around a day, day and a half from here. We will leave soon, so take what you will need, and then take about half as much salt as you can carry. We won’t be bringing the full carcass back; we will mostly just be hunting for the pelts today. We probably won’t bring much meat back. Depending on how long we stay out, we will cook what we need and leave the rest for the wolves or needleleafs.”

  Max nods and gathers all the supplies he thinks he will need. His bag is filled with the usual flint and steel, tinderbox, a light blanket, a skinning knife, and a water skin. He now has many knives.

  He keeps one in each boot; these were smaller than some of the others. Their handles were simple wood in a flattened hourglass shape, with the top and bottom being wider and the middle tapering in; the blades were even simpler. The blade is almost as wide as the top of the hourglass handle and quickly tapers to a point, being only about as long as the handle. He has made them himself, as he had with all his knives.

  He keeps a large one sheathed on the front of his belt. It was a hunting blade with a clip point that was sharpened on the reverse side. It was the second longest of his knives, but the widest. Next, he has a smaller drop point knife with a curved antler handle that he had the smith help him with on the right side of his vest. He has added several sheaths to his vest. On the left side of his vest, he keeps two more knives, one being a smaller, thinner version of the one on the front of his belt, its length similar to his handle size.

  The final knife he made had confused the smith, for it was more of an odd dirk in his eyes than a knife or dagger. While Max refers to it as a knife, he knows it is more like a dagger or a dirk as well. He took inspiration from the books he had read about the Native Americans and designed it to mimic a shorter musket’s bayonet.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  It is long and thin, triangular in shape. While he can slash with it, he has made it thinking of Sinclair and his men. If they were armored, he wasn’t completely confident that anything but Stephen’s spear would be able to pierce them. Most of his other knives have wider tips, and his tomahawks, he feels, would just bounce off chainmail.

  The dagger he had taken off of Sinclair’s man was his only real choice before he made this one. Being slightly longer and thinner than the dagger, he feels that he should easily be able to slip it through chainmail. He has also added a hammer to his belt, on a loop much like the tomahawks he keeps it between the tomahawk on his left side and the dagger on his back.

  Max knows that in the woods or on the hunt, he probably would not be needing any of these knives and uses his cloak to hide most of them. He believes in keeping them on him just in case, though. He never knows if he will end up back in his world, if they might run into brigands, or if, much like when he stumbled into finding Rosalee, he’ll end up traveling far away without warning. He might get caught up in another unlikely adventure, and wants to be prepared this time. Once he gathers his things, he takes a rather large sack of salt and waits for Stephen.

  Stephen had previously thought about the trip and was already basically ready. Once Max arrives, they set off together. Just as they have on their previous hunts, he points out anything of note and teaches Max as much as he can about the few things he hasn’t already. It is a pleasant journey, if a bit brisk.

  On the way, Max carries the bow and quiver while Stephen carries the spear and a decent-sized axe. Stephen is chatting lightly with Max when the boy suddenly draws an arrow and lets it fly without a moment's notice. Stephen can’t help but jump out of his skin as the arrow passes in front of him unexpectedly.

  “What in the hells, Max!”

  “What? There was a rabbit.” Max is slightly confused, looking at Stephen as he crosses his path and retrieves the rabbit. His aim, although fast, was still rather accurate. He guts the rabbit immediately, so the meat won’t spoil. They then continue on as he won’t skin it till they make camp. Now they have dinner and won’t have to look for something later.

  What in the hells? Who fires an arrow like that? Middle of a sentence, no warning, and we didn’t even break stride! Stephen is rattled by the incident. Seeing Max’s nonchalant attitude, he doesn’t voice any of his thoughts or concerns.

  This boy grows more deadly and dangerous by the day. I know he still practices that weird moving, rolling archery, but I didn’t think he had gotten this good at it. Seeing Max finish gutting the rabbit without turning green or gagging further proves what Stephen is thinking.

  “You were telling me about the moss in this area?” As he hangs the rabbit by its hind legs from his bag, Max picks the conversation back up as he moves back beside Stephen. Stephen hides just how unnerving Max’s actions have been to him and continues telling Max about the moss as he had been before the incident.

  They reach the river without any more incidents. Max sets camp at Stephen's instructions; they apparently are going to be staying in the area for a day or more. They roast the rabbit while Stephen shows Max a small two-person tent that he has brought with them, without Max noticing. Setting it up isn’t difficult, simply foreign to Max, but they eventually get it set up. After finishing the rabbit, they leave the fire burning low and sleep through the chilly night.

  The next morning arrives, and nothing bothers them, even as the coals die. This is far more comfortable than the last time that Max had slept in the wilds. He is neither awakened by anything nor does he have to sleep in a thorn bush. They eat some dried meat that they have brought with them, and then Stephen leads Max back into the woods.

  “What we will be hunting is a bit aggressive and bigger than a rabbit. While we might bring it down with the bow, I feel it is best we both have a spear just in case, as it will work much better. I have seen you with the axes before, and do not doubt you would win in the end; we need to get the pelts of several of them, and don’t need you hurt. We will make you a makeshift one, so look for a stick or fallen branch about the length and thickness of mine, and I will show you how to sharpen it.”

  They spend the better part of the morning looking and finally decide to go with a fallen branch that, while rather twisted down its length, is still mostly straight. Max uses his tomahawk and chops away at the tip, forming a point at the angle that Stephen tells him to. It is noon by the time that they are ready, but now armed with a spear, Stephen feels their chances have improved. They travel down the river for as long as they dare and find nothing. They make it back to the camp they had previously set, and decide to go up the river tomorrow while eating some food they had brought with them.

  Not having to find and sharpen a branch, they can set out much earlier the following morning. Again, it looks as if the journey will end without finding anything other than a bush full of delicious berries that they pick clean. Just as they are about to return to camp, Stephen finally spots what he was looking for. They cautiously approach the creature, and when Max gets a good look at it, he is caught off guard.

  “A beaver? That is the aggressive creature we have been hunting for?”

  “Shhh. Keep your voice down. They might not be a predator, but they will aggressively protect their territory. Their pelts go for a good sum, but they are also quite warm. With winter coming, we both could use them as decent blankets. If we get lucky enough, we might even get enough to make cloaks out of.”

  Max can’t argue with his logic, but having never actually seen a beaver, let alone fought one, he still finds it hard to believe that it is that dangerous. He crouches down and gets a better angle on the beaver before laying the spear beside him. Taking the bow off his shoulder, he holds it with two arrows in his left hand, placing another in his teeth, notches yet another arrow, and takes aim.

  Seeing the ridiculous pose Max is in, Stephen couldn’t help but shake his head. That boy. I hope he doesn’t miss and lands a decent shot.

  Max waits until the beaver has moved a distance from the river. While never seeing one in person, he knows they are good swimmers, and while the river is a slow one, he has no desire to try to drag one out of the water if they manage to kill it before it swims away.

  Stephen inches to the side, trying to get closer to the water so if the beaver runs, he will be able to intercept it, but keeping Max in his sight. Max fires the first arrow from the bow. Before it has even found its mark, he takes the arrow from his teeth, notches it, and sets it after the first. While notching the third arrow, one of the ones he holds with the bow, the first arrow hits.

  The beaver cries out, but before it can even turn to find what attacked it, the second arrow hits. The beaver stumbles to the side, no longer even caring who is attacking it, and starts to turn to the water. The third arrow hits its other side as it turns. Before it can reach Stephen, who is moving in on it, the fourth arrow fells the beast. Stephen’s worry is proven misplaced.

  With his jaw open, he turns and looks at Max, who is approaching the bow slung back over his shoulder, carrying the spear. How in the hells did he manage that? Four arrows that quickly!? Four! It barely had a chance to turn around.

  Most of the hunts that they had been on, they had hunted small game. Between the arrows, spear, and tomahawks, they rarely needed a second blow to kill anything unless they missed, but then the other person usually landed their blow as whatever tried to get away. This is the first time he has seen Max actually repeatedly use the bow on anything other than the target.

  After the embarrassing time that Stephen had found Max rolling and firing the bow inaccurately, Max had made sure to only practice traditional archery when he was around. Standing in the proper stance, taking his time, letting one arrow go at a time, slowly but extremely accurately at the target. A target wouldn’t run away, and the goal was accuracy, not speed, especially when practicing.

  When either Stephen was busy or not around, Max would still very much practice the archery he had read about and seen in the books about Native Americans. He knew at long distances it wasn’t the best method, and the traditional way worked best when you came upon something that didn’t see you.

  Still, when practicing the Native American inspired method, he noticed he could fire far quicker with the way they held the arrows, and once he had set up the first shot, even if it was done traditionally, he could quickly follow it up using this method. The beaver was almost stationary, moving slowly and even turning and fleeing, but he knew he wouldn’t have to chase, which would only go further in keeping his aim on target, even with the rougher, quicker movements.

  Unaware of how his rapidly improving skills and merciless attitude are affecting Stephen, Max retrieves the arrows from the beaver. “It is far larger than I thought it would be. Do we have to lug this thing all the way back to camp?”

  Coming to his senses, Stephen approaches Max and the beaver. “Umm, no, we don’t. We can take some choice cuts, the liver and the tail back with us. The tail is especially delicious. Other than that, we mostly just want the pelt. Try to get it off as intact as you can. Tomorrow we will move camp further in this direction and then see if we can find any more.”

  They quickly get to work gutting and skinning the beaver. Stephen uses his axe to remove the tail and legs, and they set off back to camp. Just as when they came up earlier in the day, the path back to camp is empty of any game or predators. They eat later than normal today, dining on the fresh beaver meat. Max agrees the tail is a rare treat.

  They proceed to move the camp several times over around a week, moving quite a distance from the cabin. They have managed to catch six beavers in total, including unusually large ones. Overall, it has been a good and successful trip. Early one morning, they pack camp and begin making their way through the woods.

  “We aren’t going to backtrack the way we came; that will take far too long. There should be a road not far this way that will lead back to Briargate. We can drop the pelts off at the whittawer. If we run into anything on the way there, we can also sell it there.” Stephen leads the way through the forest. Max nods and is always amazed at how Stephen can almost always know where they are at any given time.

  Max follows beside Stephen and drifts off into thought. While I love being in the woods, I must say I miss the cabin. No matter how many times we do it, I am always tense when we sleep in a tent out here. I keep thinking something is going to attack us in the middle of the night.

  I think life at Stephen’s cabin is far better. Skinning and gutting are far easier at the workstations, and you don’t have to lug as much salt around with you. The area around the cabin might grow old, but a day or so trip is still better than this weeklong hike. I understand why we had to do it, but still.

  As he thinks about the way his life has become at the cabin, he begins to compare it to life at the smithy. The smithy wasn’t bad either. I really enjoyed working the forge and making things. The hard work paid off in whatever I made and then usually ended up making me coin to boot.

  At the cabin, most of what we do is just for ourselves, with only the pelts and, very rarely, some of the meat being sold. Working hard alongside the smith, I never really appreciated how well off we were. I managed to buy far more supplies and gear than I would have living the simple way I do now.

  Maybe if we hunted less for our stock for winter and more for the town, we might earn more coin. Bigger game would also get us more coin from the meat and pelts. Sadly, I’m too small to lug them around, and Stephen seems to have very little, if any interest in it. He seems to just prefer living off the land in the woods.

  The day carries on uneventfully, and with nothing much to talk about, they continue in silence, just listening to the sound of the bugs and birds of the forest. I don’t really know which I prefer. The freedom of the cabin is definitely nice, doing what I want when I want, but the routine of the smith was also comforting. Never having to worry about creatures or bandits, just working away, the only trouble being finding new customers. His mind makes an abrupt jump when he thinks about freedom and routine.

  Urgh, compared to my world, either are great though. School is just terrible. I really don’t understand how things changed from being like this to where we are in my world. I mean, the majority of the things they teach us are completely pointless and have almost no value when you have to survive. Outside of math, to figure out the weird coin denominations and maybe history, if they focused more on the important stuff, the rest seems pointless unless you are going to try and do something super specific.

  The rules are even worse, from the arbitrary rules of school to even the ones at home. Being home before dark, not doing things alone, bedtimes, dinner times, bath times, what you can eat, where you can go, and even the kind of things you are allowed to do are all monitored and limited. Here, if I am hungry, I eat, smelly, I bathe, I eat what I want when I feel like it. My bedtime is when I am tired, and waking before the sun is just pointless.

  No one tries to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I want to wander the woods at night, so be it; I’ll probably get eaten, but that is my choice. I want to hunt? Ask someone to take you or just go yourself. Yea, there is some risk involved, but so what? If you get hurt or make a mistake, you learn and do better the next time.

  Most people here are also far more friendly. Almost everyone is willing to help each other out, and if you are willing to work, you can easily do just about anything. Even if you are unskilled and cannot find someone to teach you, just try to make something, and someone will probably buy whatever you make. Even if it is roughly or poorly done, even if no one buys it, they will promptly tell you why, making it easy for you to improve.

  Back home, it is almost completely different; most people seem not to care about or avoid each other. Even if you are willing to work, they always say things like you are too young or wouldn’t know what you are doing, and won’t even let you try. Getting the tools to just try to make things yourself is also far harder back home, and even if you manage to make something, people won’t pay attention to it because it isn’t ‘a brand they know’.

  Max’s mood grows dour as they trek through the woods into the early afternoon. He begins to dread being returned back to his world. The only thing he misses from there is his mom and grandmother. Outside of the two of them, he would much rather stay here, even just at Briargate, and make a life for himself. Before his mood can worsen, he hears a scream off in the distance. He is just about to rush off when Stephen holds his arm out in front of him.

  “Best not to rush off, as I said earlier, the road is ahead. We know not what is happening there. It could be monsters, bandits, or something else entirely. Let us move carefully so as to not be discovered before we decide what to do.”

  Stephen has a bad expression on his face. From everything he knows about Max, he feels the boy will rush headlong into any situation to save anyone, just as he had done when meeting himself. Max won’t consider the implications or the risks, least of all to himself.

  Frustrated Max agrees. He wants to go try and help, but Stephen is right. He has no idea what lies ahead; it could be anything, including a trap. It would be best to see what is happening first, then make a plan and follow it.

  The duo quickly made their way toward the scream. They find that ahead of them is a slight drop off, no more than ten feet. “Bandits. There are too many of them. Blast their luck, there is nothing we can do.” Stephen says, they both lie on their stomachs and look down at the scene.

  Saying that, Stephen backs down and stands looking at Max. Below the drop lay the road, and the forest continues on the other side. There are two women and at least eight men on the road beside a horse pulling a cart. One of the men who looks as though he is just a regular townsperson holds a crying woman at the back of the cart.

  Several of the armed men are pulling the other woman away from the unarmed man holding the crying woman. One of the women had let out the scream they had heard before, but he couldn't tell which. Two of the armored men were dragging the woman they pulled away off into the woods.

  Of the remaining five men, one is messing with the bridal on the horse while the other four surround the couple. They are all armed except for the couple with swords or axes; none of them seems to be carrying anything else other than maybe a dagger.

  Max crawls back down and looks at Stephen. “If we stay quiet, they won’t even notice us. Once we reach Briargate, we can tell the guard about this, and they will look into it. There is nothing we can do, Max.” Stephen pats Max on the shoulder and turns to leave.

  He pauses a moment later when he hears something hit the ground and turns to see Max running up the incline, his pack, the bow, and quiver lying on the ground near Stephen. “Max!” He shouts as loud as he dares as he sees Max jump off the cliff.