“Slow down! A rushed shot is a useless shot!”

  ? Grim slid to a stop, his eyes scanning left to right. There! A wooden circle was rising in the air. He began drawing back on the string of his bow, but before he could get to a full draw, the rune in the center of the circle discharged and zapped him with a mana bolt. knocking him flat to the ground. Again.

  ? He pounded his fist into the packed earth of the obstacle course and jumped back to his feet. The mana bolts never hurt, but it was humiliating to be knocked to the ground each time one hit him. The ground was decidedly not soft. “How am I supposed to slow down when they fire faster than me?”

  ? “Because you’re too slow!” Fendel snarled, jumping down from his elevated post spectating the training. “These are level one runes, boy! You can’t shoot faster than a level one?”

  ? “You *just* told me to slow down!” Grim shot back. Any thought of respect or obedience had long since left him. Fendel was pissing him off, and he couldn’t shake the suspicion that this man had never spent time actually trying to teach anyone how to use a bow. “Which is it? Slow down, or go fast? You can’t do both!”

  ? “Sure you can!” Fendel retorted, almost shouting into Grim’s face now. “Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast!”

  ? “What?” Grim spluttered, confused and irritated in equal measure now. “Those two cancel each other out!”

  ? Fendel unslung his own bow and, in the same motion, pressed the contact rune that brought the course to life once again. In a blur, he drew, aimed, and shot. Each arrow slammed into the center of each circle the second it rose, almost as if he knew the order in which they would rise, though Grim knew that was impossible. The order was random each time, and yet not a single rune had the chance to begin glowing before it was smashed to pieces by his arrows.

  ? “See?” His teacher said, sneering down at him. “Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast! How hard is that to understand?!”

  ? Grim was impressed by his trainer’s speed and accuracy, but there was no way he was going to take that lying down. “That only proves that your higher level lets you shoot faster! Everyone knows you get faster as you level up!”

  ? “Level has nothing to do with it!” Fendel barked, his volume spiking without warning. “Who said you have to wait until your enemy does something before you shoot them?”

  ? Grim paused, his mouth open to deliver an automatic retort, suddenly unable to think of what he was about to say. Fendel cursed under his breath and stomped a few feet away. “Gods, boy, I’ve been waiting for you to make that realization yourself!”

  ? Grim cursed right back, though he made sure to keep his voice low enough not to let it reach his teacher’s ears. Rising back to his feet, he drew back on his bow once more, only to get zapped with another mana bolt, this time from Fendel’s hand directly. “Use the proper form!”

  ? He let out a frustrated sigh, then, after picking himself up again, pushed against the stave of the bow while pulling on the string. The motion was made twice as easy with both his arms taking on the strain, and at least his arms shook less when firing like this. A circle appeared in the corner of his vision, and he turned to release an arrow at it. The projectile missed by a few inches, and a mana bolt slammed into his shoulder, knocking him flat. Thirty-eighth time that day.

  ? “Well, that’s a small improvement,” Fendel admitted grudgingly. “At least you got the arrow off before it shot at you.”

  ? “Still hit me though, didn’t it?” Grim snarled, forcing himself back to his feet. “What good is it if I’m fast but not accurate?”

  ? Fendel let out a bark of laughter. “Now you’re starting to understand the problem, boy!”

  ? Grim stared at him, mouth agape for several long seconds. “Wait… Which is more important? To be fast, or to be accurate?”

  ? His teacher fixed him with a heavy, level stare, not answering for a moment. Then, a slow grin spread across his face. “Yes.”

  ? Fendel reached down and pressed a different rune. This time, the targets all rose at once and stayed there, without glowing. “Now we work on your accuracy. Observe.”

  ? Fendel showed him the proper form for shooting yet again. Grim paid close attention, even to how he nocked his arrows without looking, then smoothly drew the arrow to full draw, his back straight and taut as the arrow he held. He didn’t rush through any of the motions; rather, it all formed one continuous motion. Up, down, back, release. Up, down, back, release. After five shots, he lowered his bow, and Grim looked out to see five arrows buried in the center of each of the targets.

  ? “Get used to the rhythm of the shot,” Fendel told him, in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Take your time. The more arrows you fire, the easier that motion becomes to reproduce. And the more shots you do, the more accurate you become. What you need is a foundation.”

  ? And, so saying, he slung his bow back over his shoulder, and a thin wooden switch appeared in his right hand out of a storage space. He gestured with it to the place where he’d stood, looking pointedly at Grim on the ground. “Go on.”

  ? “What are you going to do with that stick?”

  ? “You’ll see. Or, if you finally get the point of this lesson, perhaps you won’t.”

  ? But he did, of course. The whip-like stick cracked down on him barely a minute later when he made the mistake of drawing back on the bow with just one hand, then again when, missing a shot, he grew impatient and hurriedly drew back on another arrow, determined to hit that target.

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  ? “Nope! You already missed that monster, and it escaped! On to the next!”

  —

  ? Grim collapsed onto a chair in the mess hall and wordlessly pulled a plate in front of him, shoveling food onto it before stuffing his face. He was so tired and so hungry that he didn’t even spare a glance at whoever was around him. Sensing just how miserable he was, they accepted his silence and let him eat in peace.

  ? Once he’d cleaned his first plate, he looked around the mess hall, noting how quiet it seemed. Were there less people in the hall for dinner today? No, that didn’t seem right. The tables were just as packed as that first night. And, now that he was listening, just as many people were talking. Why, then, did it seem more peaceful?

  ? “What’s with everyone today?” He asked the person seated across from him, finally speaking. “Everyone’s so… quiet.”?

  ? “Huh?” His neighbor looked around in some confusion, then back to him. “Just as rowdy here as any other night. What are you on about?”

  ? “Ah, the stray cat finally feels at home,” another person down the table laughed. “It means you’ve gotten so used to it that it’s background noise, Grim.”

  ? He looked around the room again, frowning. They were right. The volume hadn’t changed at all. If anything, it looked to be more energetic than before. But he’d just… grown accustomed to it. It was as his guildmate had said. It existed in the background, a sort of ambience that he’d come to accept.? “Huh.”

  ? His guildmate laughed, then jumped up onto his chair, his mug held high. “A toast to Grim! He finally feels at home!”

  ? “Yay.” The sarcastic, drawn-out cheer came from more than half the throats. Grim regarded them all, his mouth open in shock. What a low-energy reply. What a pointless thing to toast, he corrected himself. Then, more irritated yet again, he thought that it was a stupid thing to even comment on. So what if he’d finally started to view the place as a home? It had been two weeks, after all.

  ? But the spirit of the toast was matched, and barely a minute later. Grim saw Garf jump up onto his chair and raise a mug. “To me! For winning the bet!”

  ? “Yay.” came the crowd again, but this time, he caught the sarcastic grins that most hid away quickly. This was clearly some kind of tradition the guild held. Now that he came to think of it, he’d never been this early to dinner before. Fendel had just let him go early this evening, allowing him to get to dinner while the majority of people were just settling down for their meal.

  ? “And a toast for me!” Orren said, just then appearing in the hall. “I got approval for another joint scouting expedition!”

  ? “Yay.”

  ? Orren swept the entire crowd with a rude hand gesture, though the effect was ruined by his usual stupid grin. The Guildmaster made his way around the tables, greeting and talking to a few people, laughing with others, or pausing to share advice with some of the newest members. *Well, at least he seems to take this part of the job seriously.* Glancing just a few feet away, he saw Veyra cackling with a group of older guild members. One of them reached out to ruffle her hair, and she sat straight and proud, like a child being praised by her parents.

  ? “Odd couple, but they’re probably the best in the guild,” someone nearby commented. “Makes you wonder how much stronger they’d be if they were just a bit more serious.”

  ? It was an interesting thought, and Grim agreed. Before he could give it any thought, however, Orren made his way over to their table, a broad grin on his face. “If I took it any more seriously, I’d run you lot through so much training you’d hate me. Just look at poor Grim there. He’s been with Fendel for two weeks now, and he looks ready to faint with exhaustion!”

  ? A dozen pairs of eyes flicked to Grim, and they chuckled. Orren made his way over to Grim then and put a hand on his shoulder. “So, Grim. How is training with Fendel going?”

  ? “It’s…” Grim wasn’t sure how to answer that. If he were being honest, he hated every second of it. Fendel was a perfectionist, demanding nothing but the best from a complete novice. He seemed to draw pleasure from smacking, zapping, or tripping Grim whenever he made a mistake. And, if he made the same mistake multiple times, he grew angry, shouting at Grim and clobbering him until he got the point at last.

  ? If he were being more honest, he’d started thinking that there was more to a bow than he could have ever imagined. The simple act of drawing, aiming, and firing an arrow had seemed easy at first, but grew infinitely more difficult. His quality was still horrendous, but there were definite improvements. He’d noted them himself–not that Fendel would ever comment on his progress. Despite how he felt about his teacher, his lessons *were* working.

  ? “It’s going alright,” he finally said, answering his Guildmaster. “I’m learning slowly, but I am learning.”

  ? He looked from Orren’s face to the rest of the table, surprised to see that they were staring at him, their mouths open in shock. What had he said? Even Orren looked taken aback, though his reaction was muted compared to the others. The reaction wasn’t limited to his table, either. Everyone within easy earshot gawked at him. “What?”

  ? “I… I think that’s the first time Fendel’s gotten a positive review in the first few weeks,” Orren said, his tone a little shaky. “Usually it takes about half a year for his students to acknowledge him, and that’s when they’re gifted.”

  ? The others’ shock had turned into something dangerously close to awe. Feeling more than a little put off by the attention and the misunderstanding, Grim shook his head. “I’m not a prodigy.”

  ? “Well,” Fendel snorted, appearing out of nowhere, “That goes without saying. You shoot like my grandfather, and he only had the one arm by the time he died. Actually, that’s insulting my grandfather.”

  ? Grim’s embarrassment faded an instant, and was replaced with a scowl. Fendel. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to torture him during their training sessions. He just had to tack on more during dinner. But Grim refused to rise to the bait, instead choosing to make his point with a glare to match Fendel’s.

  ? “Damn, that’s a nasty look,” one of his tablemates said. “He looks damn near as stubborn as you do, Fendel.”

  ? His archery instructor held his glare for just a few seconds longer, returning the same amount of anger and stubborn refusal to yield. Then, with a snort, he turned away. “Well, of course. I expect nothing less from my students. Especially those that show some promise.”

  ? Dozens of eyes followed Fendel as he moved away to join the group of older men eating with Veyra, then flicked back to Grim. The silence within twenty feet was stifling, so Grim hurriedly shoved down the rest of the food on his plate, eager to escape the attention. “I’m going to take a bath.”

  ? “Sure, sure,” Orren said, sounding distracted. “Oh, that reminds me why I came down here! Come see me and Veyra when you’re done with your bath, Grim. We’ve got something important to discuss.”