Private Tales Out of Place

[Hath Charosh]

With bow in hand, but arrows down range, Hath walked behind the line of archers until he was behinds Scabhair, looking down range from her perspective. He had not watched her shoot too closely either.

She formed clean lines with her form, though the draw and release still looked slightly awkward to him. He could see how it would have advantages on the move. There was one thing I'm particular he could appreciate. Regardless of method, her release was more consistent and clean than his own.

He made a quiet grunt of appreciation and then left her to finish her last arrows in peace.

Behind them both Lohys seemed slightly bemused by the sheaf of paper itself. She was travelled enough to know some numbers and the diagrams were quite clear. It would take a very different cut of wood to what she was used to working.

 

[Scabhair]

“Want to give it a try?”

The question came as she aimed her last arrow, and though she never looked away from the target, the smile was clear in her voice. “I don’t think my ring would fit on your hand, but you can probably shoot a few times without having your skin scraped off raw.”

The string on her recurve sliced the air much faster still than those the Charosh shot. Young Aiforn hunters always made the mistake of a jutting elbow only once – losing a chunk of flesh to your own bow was neither pleasant nor honourable.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Yes," he replied simply. There was no point pretending otherwise. "Putting the arrow on the other side of the bow will be a little...strange."

He leaned forwards into the shot and balanced the arrow on the left of the bow. Hath assumed it was something to do with riding, but he wasn't able to figure it out having never seen her shoot that way.

Scabhair had a long draw for such a short bow so the thumb draw would eliminate fingers being pinched together and to the arrow, but it still looked such a different hand position.

"Let me get a few spares," he said, marching towards the bowyer. He returned quickly with a rough set of arrows.

"The grass is long," he explained. The chance of scattering a few meant he would rather use some cast offs than risk losing either of their own closely matched arrows. Or the new heads Pern had forged back at Elbion.

 

[Scabhair]

Once he’d returned with the training arrows, Scabhair handed him the bow and adjusted his posture with a few quick touches to the back and elbow. It would no doubt be odd for Hath – balancing the arrow on the other side of the bow, drawing with the thumb, aiming down the field with both eyes open.

She let him try a few times in silence, curious just how much his skill at longbow could translate. He hit the target at least, much to her appreciation.

“You breathe well,” she said as she returned with the arrows, handing him one to nock. “It was my biggest problem for a long time. Before I had to learn to pace my release with a riding gait.” Let go at the wrong moment, and the smack of paws against the ground would throw your aim as surely as getting hit over the head with a club.

“Keep your shoulder down, like this, and relax your wrist. You’ll lock up otherwise.” She leaned in to replace her fingers with her own, showing him how to keep the knuckle of the thumb straight. “Will you show me your form later? I think you might be able to shoot arrows farther, but I should like to try it out.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

As the first arrow left the bow he snapped his gaze down to the bow. He felt a flicker of fear that he had overdrawn and broken her bow with the first arrow. The bow was absolutely fine. The shot had felt so snappy in his hand as it released. By comparison his had a fairly soft feel on the hand as the arrow was loosed.

Part of his careful breathing, that elicited the compliment, was because his nerves had been frayed by the first shot.

Hath hadn't even thought of trying to time the shot to the hair of the lion. When riding Inodeirr the only thought running through his head was to cling on with all his might.

Unfortunately her firm hand to his shoulders had the opposite effect and he tensed up further. Part of it was trying to mimic her draw technique. He put more tension on the string when the bow was low and set his front shoulder low, whilst her draw started higher.

Hath came down until the bow was at rest again. She had spotted the main struggle he was facing: positioning the drawing hand. It felt such an unnatural angle to him.

"Of course I can," he replied, nodding towards her. His gaze returned to his drawing hand, brow furrowed in concentration. He tried to keep wrist more relaxed and tried to copy her, drawing the bow back just a few inches.

"The bow is heavy at the start, but smooth through the draw," he commented. "How does that look?" he asked.

 

[Scabhair]

“Better.” She smiled, stepping back to let him try again with the new posture. It was slow-going, and if he really wanted to learn it’d take years of practice to become as swift as she was.

Leaning against a nearby tree, Scabhair took simple pleasure in watching the hunters perfect their craft. It was always good practice, seeing a good bow put through the paces by an archer who knew what he was doing.

“The contest tomorrow,” she said when Hath walked out to recover the arrows, “what is it? Shall we go out hunting, or will we spend the morning felling these terrifying bales of hay?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"I'll ask but probably no hunting challenges this year. Been too busy gathering food for the coming Rites."

Hath chuckled before explaining what had tickled him.

"One year they made a Goblin run around the field in a suit of armour with a target on his back."

The humour left his expression when he looked up and realised how wide he had spread that batch of arrows. It would take a little longer to gather them all.

"Everyone gets twelve arrows with a target at sixty paces. Need eight hits to go into the next round. It goes back to eighty paces and you need to hit eight again. That cuts down to the serious archers. Each round after you get six arrows. That the gold circle counts for two. Each round the Chieftain, or normally someone chosen by her, decides how many hits you need to go on."

One of the arrows had skipped off the ground and gone a good distance past the target.

"Normally only a few more rounds and down to the last few. Then it's interesting.

"Your bow is fast, snappy and smooth," he said appreciatively. "Mine is going to feel soft to shoot, but heavy at full draw I think."

 

[Scabhair]

She approached again as he wrapped up, receiving her bow like she would embrace an old friend. Its weight was familiar to her hand, every tilt and nick and quirk of bearing. She smoothed a calloused hand along the leather protecting its core before sliding it back into the safety of her quiver.

“I expect as much. You draw into the ground, then aim.” She chuckled a bit as she tried to imagine the motion in the saddle. “Impossible to do whilst riding, I should think.”

Which was what their competitions involved, naturally. Sitting still was hardly a challenge. She’d always found the targets on the ground to be the nastiest – had to bend your arm behind your head and shoot straight down.

Couldn’t imagine an orc like Bathyr pulling it off. He’d probably block his own draw with those massive muscles.

“Your bowyer didn’t seem to appreciate the way you go about stringing it.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Oh dear," he muttered. "Quicker that way. Don't always have the time to take care over it but probably now is a good time to." He was going to get a stern reprisal if he came back to her with a broken horn tip now. He was supposed to use the front of one ankle and the back of his other thigh to more carefully bend the bow, rather than one foot, his hands and brute strength.

Hath picked up his own bow again. A glance towards Lhovys and he very briefly caught the chieftain's eye passing in their direction.

"Not all the way," he explained, passing her the bow. By comparison to hers it was a long stave with a very gentle curve. As he spoke he mimicked his shooting routine. It was something he did so often his body knew to do it without thought.

"Bow hand low, tilt the bow away from you. String back a few inches. String hand flat, wrist straight. Bring both hands to eye level. Back, thumb to cheek, release. Some do different," he added, nodding towards the others getting some practise in.

It wasn't his ego that told him he was a better shot than the others here. He was supposedly one of the best in the tribe, though he had a suspicion that Scabhair was going to thoroughly show him up. It didn't upset him, but he was thinking that the short bow had been a pleasure to shoot.

 

[Scabhair]

Scabhair was in no rush to shoot the first arrow, and spent a few moments more carefully watching as the other hunters displayed the technique in all its glory – and variance. The older the archer got, the more they developed their own form, she found. You couldn’t find two riders back home who shot exactly the same, and the same seemed to be true of the Charosh.

Satisfied that she’d gleaned as much as she would by observation alone, the orc moved from theory to practice. The empirical method, as they’d called it back at the college. Despite the relentless hours of academia that sat at the back of her skull, Scabhair still preferred to learn hands-on.

She wrapped her fingers around the grip of the longbow and nocked the arrow on the third attempt. Going between belly and string – talk about awkward. Filling her lungs with air, Scabhair followed the outlined motions of his draw until the cool bone of her thumb ring kissed her cheek.

It was the release that got her. With her bow she could simply tug her arm a bit further back, and her fingers would part to let go the string. Close range the jerk of the motion didn’t matter, but hunting distances it was a matter of hitting the animal or hitting the tree three strides over.

This arrow would’ve hit the tree.

“How do you avoid disturbing your aim on release?” Scabhair frowned down at the pair of fingers she had curled around the string. The motion of opening them was as alien as breathing water.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Hah, yes same problem I had. I think the fingers - or thumb - learn to release on their own and the other find the idea confusing." The release had quite clearly been the problem with his own form trying to use her bow.

Hath walked around to face her. "Eye on the target, hand like full draw for me," he asked.

He placed his left arm underneath her right and placed his hand against her scapular. His right hand gently grasped her wrist.

"String needs to sit in first joint of your fingers. Don't curl too much. Can't wait at full draw on these bows. Squeeze your back like I'm sure you do. Keep pulling at the elbow and relax the fingers. Keep eye on the target until the arrow is long gone. Your hand will go like this."

He gently dragged her hand back across the line of her jaw until her fingers brushed her neck. Hath took a step back so she had room to shoot again or ask any further questions. What struck him was how many fundamentals were the same. The formed the same lines with her upper torso, with the exception of keeping her bow straight.

 

[Scabhair]

Her next few attempts yielded better results, with most arrows buried comfortably inside the hay. It was a strangely humbling experience, using an instrument that felt so familiar and so strange at the same time. Memories of her first attempts at marksmanship weren’t much different than this, though back then both the woman and the bow had been much smaller, and there weren’t nearly so many eyes on her.

Fortunately the pressure of many wasn’t the sort Scabhair succumbed to – not any more, at least. She’d gone through the experience, been quashed and moulded by it much like those rocks compressed under the weight of mountains. Her silver skin might’ve been steel for all the good poison tongues could do her.

“I have to admit,” she spoke after recovering the arrows for a second time, “either I’m getting weak or this one’s a sight heavier on the draw than mine.” With a wide smile Scabhair handed the bow back to Hath and shook out her arm. “No wonder you can’t hit marks over long distances. There’s barely any time to aim!”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"The difference is all all in the wrist..." he had started to say before she slipped in the fresh jibe.

He grinned and shook his head. "Not to mention I'm missing whilst standing still instead of on the back of a lion," he compounded upon her observation. Whilst Hath had been keen to goade her into the competition he was aware that there was a point where you just set yourself up for an embarrassing fall.

"Not sure I could shoot off the thumb," he said, voice turning more serious again. "But I could definitely learn to love such a bow. It's...snappy to shoot, but smooth to draw. Thank you for letting me try it."

Whilst he met her gaze evenly the right corner of his lips twitched behind his tusk. "Maybe I could hit a peg at a hundred yards just once with more time to aim."

 

[Scabhair]

“Might be,” she said, biting back a loud laugh. It wouldn’t do to disturb the intense concentration of the hunters. They were young still, and devoted to proving themselves the best on the morrow. Scabhair almost felt bad about entering the competition when she watched them train a bit longer.

“Remind me when we go north in spring, and I’ll ask Garrgharadh if he can’t make you one. It takes a while,” a few months for everything to set and dry, “but you could shoot it the same way you do with yours. We don’t notch them either way.” She’d only learned that being left-handed was a rarity when she’d gone to Elbion – among orcs, the split seemed much more even than with humans.

She grinned and clasped his shoulder. “That’s good. You should always aspire to higher goals, Hath.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Ah, I'll be staying with you through the rounds tomorrow," he replied, still sharing in the humour but also mindful of the others.

"That's the joy of the rounds. Hard to shake someone close behind you with just a few arrows." Hath suspected she would managed to break away from him in the later rounds but he was determined to make a respectable show. Wouldn't mind being close behind her. Not all all he mused, imagining the soft clap of his thighs to hers, the light of the pyre dancing across her painted form.

"Might shoot one more round with my own bow then see if we can be useful," he suggested.

 

[Scabhair]

She nodded and stepped aside so that he could return to the field. While Hath practised a while longer, Scabhair returned to Lhovys, intent on explaining any points that might’ve gotten lost in translation.

They spent the last of the training discussing the finer points of green and elderwood, and found that both their tribes preferred the same set of characteristics when it came to cores. The trees they used, though… well, the savannah had trees, for a start. Up in the Taagi Baara they had to venture all the way out to the sea or the rivers to cut down proper wood.

It was peat that fuelled most of their fires; gathamhr dung when even that ran out.

Here they had the luxury of choice, however, and for the great pyre nothing but the best would suffice. Once they wrapped up the bows and returned the arrows, Hath led the way to the edge of the camp again, where a few other orcs were already hard at work chopping up some kind of red wood she’d never seen before.

Her work axe found a swift way to her grasp as they privatised a pile of logs for themselves and began lining them up on the block.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Sometimes some hard, honest, mindless work was good for the spirit. He built up an honest sheen of sweat as he worked, bringing the axe down over and over. His shoulders were swollen and aching, but it was almost pleasant in its own way. They cut long lengths of wood as well as short stumps. The pyre was being built in alternating layers to bring the air to the flame.

There was an air of anticipation even amongst the small group of orcs doing the tedious work. The odd furtive glance was cast towards the skies to watch Lessat chasing down the sun towards the horizon. Occasionally a call of thanks went up towards the sun for its warmth this season. Many believed the moon swallowed the sun and birthed a new one. Hath wasn't sure of that, but he was fairly sure the sun couldn't hear them from down here.

Respectful grunts and the thumping of fist to chest was the first sign that Kardidua was passing through. Not passing through, he realised. She was striding towards them with purpose, no escort at her side. Kardidua rarely had reason to seek him out.

"They say she was a demon with a longsword," he murmured quietly to Scabhair, the first words to leave his lips for a long time. He could imagine her stalking down quarry like that, sword in hand. Hath stood tall and thumped his chest.

"Hath, your uncle is at the Eastern Circle. I'm sure he would like to see you."

Hath smiled and cast a glance towards Scabhair. His uncle was his favourite person in the entire tribe. Even seperate for long periods of time they had a close bond.

"Scabhair, do you have an ear?" she asked. Her tone suggested asking for someone's time was not something she was accustomed to. Hath's smile evaporated.

 

[Scabhair]

The sun was slowly swelling large and red as it dipped towards the horizon, drawing out the shadows and changing the colours from burnished to burning. Scabhair leaned against her axe with a satisfied smile, arms aching but heart filled with with the simple satisfaction of a job well done.

As she savoured the sight of a tribe at work, the air around them changed. She heard orcs murmuring and then Kardidua was there, dismissing Hath without having to phrase it out loud.

Her grip shifted on the haft as she turned to face the chieftain, her face carefully schooled. The old orc had a face like a ploughed field but her eyes were still as sharp as that longsword she might’ve carried once.

“Of course,” she said, nodding her respect. “What do you need?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

It was subtle, the way that those orcs still with wood to finish chopping managed to put some distance between themselves and the chieftain. It wasn't out of fear. If Kardidua wanted a conversation with a member of the tribe then it was assumed to be for their ears. Kardidua was more than happy to call out an orc for reprisal in front of their peers if she felt it necessary.

"My bowyer appreciated the conversation on your craft," Kardidua said with a nod in turn. "An interesting image, a tribe loosing arrows from the backs of giant lions. You shoot very well."

There was a brief pause, but Scabhair had asked bluntly so she moved on to the nature of the questions she had to ask.

"You head north with Hath when the wet season begins. Back to your own tribe?" she asked. Kardidua looked considerably more interested in the answer than during the brief, formal questions she had issued upon arrival.

 

[Scabhair]

She took the compliment for the preamble it was, silently running various scenarios in the back of her mind as the chieftain measured her words on a clear, even voice.

“In time, yes. The crossing is easiest close to Alliria. The best roads are all in the Reach too. The rivers will be flooding in spring as the snow melts, so we’ll have to go up to the base of the Spine. Eventually we shall convene with my tribe in the Taagi Baara.” At the beginning of summer, if they made good time. “Why do you ask?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Kardidua considered the question in silence for a few moments. She could be seen checking how far away the others were. Her shoulders dropped just a fraction.

"Hath ranges far and wide, but he usually returns back to his tribe." With the subtle shift in demeanour came a more open expression. There was a glimmer of concern, but there were complex issues playing out in her mind. Scabhair was only afforded this because she was not of the clan. The mask only slipped within her inner circle or with those not of Charosh.

"You would be welcome here, Scabhair, should you wish to stay longer in the season or should your travels bring you across our path again."

 

[Scabhair]

Her mouth twisted from one side to the other. Whilst she weighed her words, Scabhair sheathed her axe again and sat down on the chopping block.

Funny how all leaders learned how to dance around their true meaning. Didn’t matter if they were human or orc, of the tribe or a rich noble.

She rolled her shoulders free of the tension and looked up at the chieftain with a weary smile.

“Speak plainly, if you would.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"I am hardly fixed in my own mind as to what I want on this matter," Kardidua replied. If she took offence at the request it did not show. She was clearly mulling it over. Scabhair seemed a respectable person, but Kardidua did not know her well. Form an opinion quickly, but always be ready to change it, that was something that he used to say.

The chieftain decided that some further explanation was warranted. A glance upwards and the axes behind Scabhair fell silent and orcs could be heard padding away.

"You would bring great skill to Charosh should you decide to stay. Hath would be a loss to us if he did not return, but one I've come to feel as inevitable." She held up a hand to indicate that she wanted to continue. "If I asked him directly he would tell me little himself and Hath is not prone to waste words. His father was like that. Said little, but when he spoke it was worth listening to." A small, fond smile crossed her lips.

"My current mate, Rithik, speaks loudly and often and it is very rarely worth listening to. I think he's gone to play ball with the children." At no point had Hath told Scabhair plainly that Kardidua was actually his mother. "Hath could never reside at the centre of the tribe you see. Not with Rithik and Bathyr around."

The former chieftain had died leaving behind a son. Kardidua had found a strong mate from outside the tribe to bind them together. A number of Hath's fathers supporters had been disgruntled by the move and left the tribe. Only Hath's uncle remained to watch over the boy, following a promise he had made. But Kardidua had never been able to show much favour to Hath. The chance of him suffering a hunting accident would have grown considerably. Hath knew none of this. He only recalled brief glimmers of Kardidua acting as a mother towards him and then, like most orcs he fended for himself. But she had been the chieftain first, with a hundred orcs to care for. Whilst he thought his isolation from the clan was of his own choosing, the truth was somewhat different.

Kardidua smiled softly and let out a sigh. She stood before Scabhair allowing concerns of both mother and chieftain to slip through. As chieftain she would have put more effort into convincing Scabhair to join them, but as mother she had always felt that Hath would eventually walk so far that he did not return.

"Today is a day for reflection, not action and I should not have bothered you. Stay as long as you wish and know that I wish you a fair wind when you travel north."

 

[Scabhair]

Though she was still smiling, the expression had morphed from weary to wry. If this was a day for confessions, hers would be no easier.

Scabhair stayed quiet for a few long moments, watching the other orcs disappear back into the camp, to other duties, to their children, their mates.

“I do not mean to keep Hath,” she spoke at length, gaze returning to the wizened chieftain. “It would be selfish. Moreso, it wouldn’t be right.”

Her tattoos danced as the muscles in her jaw tensed. She relaxed with visible effort, but her eyes wandered to the distant horizon and remained there.

“My blood will die with me.” She drew down the front of her shirt to show the beginning of a long, puckered scar that continued to curl across her chest and belly to the edge of her hip. “So would his.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

An orc didn't say I am sorry that a thing happened to you. It had already happened and if there was nothing that could be done to right the situation then comfort was not to be displayed with hollow words. Kardidua reached out and gave Scabhair's shoulder a squeeze. An orc didn't treat each child as a precious gem to be kept safe. Once they could walk they were subject the the dangers of the wilds. Kardidua had birthed five and had lost two. Scabhair's situation was a difficult one to relate to.

"I realise that I came here to pick at a curiosity and it was not entirely fair," Kardidua said. She was used to asking what she wanted and getting quick answers. In this regard she was torn between being a mother and chieftain, though the latter always had to come first.

"I do not know whether it is best for Hath to be here, or to see where the wind takes him, but thank you for your honesty." She had caught Hath glancing at Scabhair. If she did not mean to keep him then it was more likely he would eventually return. Now she knew that she didn't know what to think. A bad thing for the one who carried the weight of decisions heavily. This was all for Hath to work out any way, she had merely wanted to level her expectations.

"I look forward to seeing you shoot and putting a dent in my son's ego," Kardidua laughed. "I hope you enjoy your time here." Despite everything they had discussed the part of her that thought as the leader still saw Scabhair as an asset that could be added to the growing tribe.