55th of Ymiden 720
The people of the Caravansary were exhausted, having stopped barely for a moment after they came out of the woods of Yaralon's Bastard's Grove. They'd lost near a third of their number, tag-alongs, and a few guards in Yaralon territory only to lose more in exhaustion on the roads of Volanta. But the shipment was intact, that was what mattered to Nashaki, and Dimza Nil, whose responsibility was to the Caravansary as a whole. The Caravansary didn't stop for one man, it was concerned with the welfare of all, and the riches in goods and materials they transported were the lifeblood of the survivors. Dimza Nil would not let his people down. If that meant letting stragglers fall down and die behind him, whether picked off by animals, bandits, or sheer exhaustion, that was just a fact of life on the road.
So as they emerged onto the verdant fields of the Stormlands and out of the northwestern foothills and mountain passes of Volanta, there was a great relief that washed over the survivors. Demda had opted to walk, for now, leading her thorned horse by the reins. Her camel was tied to the train as well, a bit behind the horse, and carrying most of her worldly possessions.
There was a stream of clear and clean water, not far from where they emerged from the grove. The Caravansary had taken their fill of that, letting the animals partake after they filled their skins, canteens, and kegs with water. The blessings of the lands north of Nashaki were so blatantly obvious, that Demda couldn't understand why or how Dimza managed to convince them to stay on the caravan as they made their way around and back to Nashaki. She supposed she'd learn soon enough, how he was able to convince them if indeed they required convincing. Demda for her part wasn't sure she ever wanted to go back, having sampled the richness of the land for only a few breaks.
So they made camp, and Demda took up at one of the corners of the camp, far away from the rest. There was a fortification nearby, visible in the distance. It looked strong and well defended. She supposed it was part of why this land had yet to be conquered by the desperate people of the south. As the torchbearers began lighting the fires of the various groups of the camp, Demda gathered some kindling for them, in advance. She made a circle of stones and threw the kindling in between, then, she took a well-deserved sit by the circle, waiting for someone to light her fire.
As she looked to the north, to that fort in the distance, she considered more than once just breaking away from the rest of the Caravansary.
Before she could make her move, and break away from the caravaserai to live a life of ease and abundance in these northern lands, Demda was approached by Khorog, with his recurve short bow in his hand, as well as an arrow. She quirked an eyebrow at him, but let him take a seat next to her small fire. There, they sat in silence for a while, looking off into the distance.
Demda sighed, breathing in the valley air of the Stormlands. This was supposed to be a barren waste, a place of danger, yet to her it seemed like paradise, full of dewey sweet vegetation and water aplenty. Khorog turned his head and spat on the grass. "Soft wet land." He muttered.
Just then, one of his tribesmen came over with a small wicker shield, which had a painted circular target on it. Demda looked on as the tribesman propped it up on a few sticks gathered, and then weighted it down with a bale of gathered hay. Once it was set up, Khorog nodded to the man, and dismissed him.
Demda turned from the target to Khorog, raising a brow in silent question.
He pointed at the target, and muttered, "We hit with bolts and arrows." He stood to his full height from the ground, and offered her a hand up. She ignored his hand, and leapt to her own feet. With that, she gathered her crossbow, a recurve crossbow with animal horn, bone, and chitin, laminated well by all manner of oil solutions and sinews.
She gathered her quiver of bolts, and attached it to her belt, ready for the lesson to begin. He'd promised her that he would teach her something of target practice during the journey, in case they had need to fend off against raiders, bandits, or animals. But their opportunities for such encounters had been rather limited.
Even so, he began by showing her his own form with a bow, standing about twenty yards out from the target with her at his side, and then loosed the arrow after taking aim. He hit very near the center of the target. Shrugging to himself with a grunt, he pointed at her.
She hefted the light crossbow in her arms, the stock against the crook of her shoulder, and then put a finger over the trigger. A bolt was readied for action in the crossbow, and soon released. Far from hitting near Khorog's mark, her bolt flew well over the target, several yards off from it.
Khorog laughed uproariously for a few moments, at which Demda took no small amount of consternation. Then she took aim again, this time aiming for a slightly higher vector. This time, she got within a few feet of the target, just shy of it.
No laughter this time, at least, though she could still sense the mirth oozing out of Khorog as she failed to hit the target once again. She took out her spanner, which resembled a horn-like fork that was well polished with a laminate solution. It kept the spanner flexible, while allowing it the tensile strength needed to draw back the string of the crossbow. It took a dozen seconds for her to draw it back to full draw. Once this was done, she took aim again, noting her previous failures and how to correct for the distance that she'd fallen short of. Still, she was careful once she noted the wind currents, blowing through the Stormlands, that she would have to correct for all of that.
Her bolts were all fleteched in green ribbon, her favorite color. As it flew off, the ribbon trailed behind it beautifully, and almost instantly made contact with the edge of the target. This time there was no mirth emanating from Khorog. But there was a sense of approval from him, as he patted Demda on the shoulder. "Good aim."
So saying, they walked over to retrieve their ammunition.
After a break or two of practicing in this way, Khorog seemed to grow in confidence of his pupil's growing skill with a crossbow. Although it took little in the way of instruction to be accurate with one, the real test of skill in a crossbow was maintaining calm, and consistent loading speed of the weapon.
"We hunt now. Move targets." So saying, he gathered a pair of other tribesmen, and beckoned for Demda to follow into the nearby brush, where there were rodents, rabbits, and various other small critters suitable for hunting practice.
As they went along into the surrounding brush, Khorog instructed her not by words, but by action. It was his way, she found, and she was an observant pupil if nothing else. She ducked low, beneath the long grass with the tribesmen, keeping low, stopping when they did, following their gestures with her eyes.
She could see more than them, she realized, with her half-avriel senses.While she'd not inherited the wings of the bird folk, she had their eyes, green and sparkling, and able to notice slight changes in the wind current and other various quirks.
She could even see the breath on animals and people at times, but that took a lot of stillness in the environment to notice. She was not yet that good at using herh eyes.
Khorog lowered even further on the ground, and pointed out a quarry, a tall hare in the distance. Demda couldn't help but wonder what it might taste like, as she saw the creature propped up on its hind legs, glancing to and fro and this way and that.
Khorog, tapped Demda, and gestured for her to make ready some distance from them. She would take the first shots, and if those failed, they would shore up the hunt with their more accurate bows.
Demda lifted her crossbow, placed a quarrel on its shaft, and then took aim. Within a few moments, she released the trigger. The bolt missed narrowly, hitting just a few inches from the hare's lower limbs. Then it went bounding off, and the hunters gave it chase.
About a break later they arrived back at camp, ready to cook the hare that they'd bagged. Khorog made a gift of its hide to Demda, which she gratefully accepted, although she was bemused by his generosity. What was the meaning of this gift?
She supposed it was foolish to even ask.
