Private Tales Out of Place

[Hath Charosh]

"That thought had not crossed my mind," he laughed back. When she winked he was reminded that her eyes were brighter than the orcs of his own tribes. His own dark eyes did not reflect the moonlight like that. Orcs varied a great deal depending where in the world they came from, but it might also have been Scabhair's mixed heritage.

He had a mental image of an entire tribe of riders. Was it a mix of a pride of lions with a complement of orcs? Or were the bonds between rider and mount stronger. There were horsemen on the steppes who moved as an entire tribe on horseback. A horse could carry a lot of weight a lot of miles. They could help in a hunt, but you couldn't sent a horse to bring down game on its own.

Looking ahead and thinking of their journey brought to mind their destination. All of a sudden there was another question that caught his attention more acutely.

"How do you go from that life to studying at an Elbion college? Or was it the other way around?"

 

[Scabhair]

“My father,” Scabhair began in the deadpan voice of someone who had begun a thousand conversations in this exact way, “is an elf.”

Over the years she’d found it was better to get it over fast – same as yanking an arrow from a wound. If an orc was going to be a rancid asshole about it, she preferred to know sooner rather than later.

And if it didn’t work out, the Amol-Kalt was a good place to bury bodies besides.

“A merchant elf, to be exact. He’d come around every few years when I was young.” She shrugged. “Sometimes when we were moving south we’d escort his caravan down the northern Bhathairk trade route.”

“I left with him for Elbion when I was of age,”

then followed the trials of actually getting accepted into college; the battles with professors so institutionalised they were part of the inventory; the toils of prying a degree from their crusty claws,

“and that was that.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"So did you bond with Inodeirr before and took her to the city or did you return to your tribe after your studies?" Hath asked. There wasn't even the faintest shred of humour in his question.

The orc was entirely transparent in his naive line of questions. It made it quite clear that the practicalities of how her tribe operated was his curiosity rather than her heritage.

Any humour was kept internal. Especially when he considered that her father was the elf. He hadn't thought an elf would have the constitution to bed an orc woman.

 

[Scabhair]

“You’ve been to human cities, Hath.” Her amused voice was accompanied by a faint grin. She side-eyed him again and continued after a beat, “Many of them can’t even stomach the sight of an orc. There’s no doubt in my mind the guards would kill her on sight if I ever brought her to Elbion.”

She raised her free hand to her lips and let out a long, low whistle. The dry brush rustled before an answering roar echoed somewhere to their right.

“I grew up with her mother, Simhealgaire.” She did not add that her first companion had died while she was wearing her trousers thin on the hard benches of the college, banging her head against thick tomes of grammar and arithmetic.

“We started hunting together when I got back.” A long and rocky road thanks to her stubborn resolve to bond with an older cub. “Mind, Inodeirr’s not even fully grown yet. Give her another year and she’ll be looking down on dwarves.”

Visoring her eyes against the fierce blue glow of Lessat, Scabhair judged the distance to the oasis. The shimmer of the sands deceived the eyes, and she’d travelled through these parts less than she would’ve liked.

“We ought to stop for water in Mayim,” she finally spoke aloud, gesturing to the cluster of distant huts and trees. “And I suspect a few couriers could be plied for news from the north with a mug of honey ale.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

“You’ve been to human cities, Hath.”

"Only when I couldn't help it," he muttered quietly. He wasn't especially looking forward to visiting Elbion now. That wasn't quite true, he thought to himself. He was actually interested in seeing the city, but from a distance. It was being inside the walls that he didn't look forward to. The staring humans, the bustling crowds, and the pungent scents that could make his eyes water. Disgusting creatures sometimes threw their effluence out in the streets. Not to mention the horse shit piling up in their roads.

“Mind, Inodeirr’s not even fully grown yet. Give her another year and she’ll be looking down on dwarves.”

"Huh." It would not have occurred to him that the lion was not fully grown. Hath had seen mountain giants from a distance once. They said they had made a deal with the gods for their size in exchange for their human intelligence. Even at a glance Hath could see that Inodeirr had the same predatory intelligence of any hunting cat.

"We ought to stop for water in Mayim,” she finally spoke aloud, gesturing to the cluster of distant huts and trees. “And I suspect a few couriers could be plied for news from the north with a mug of honey ale.”

"Might need to track back close to the river on the way," he muttered. "Or at least try and get the blood stains off first."

Regardless of how they saw orcs, a settlement of humans was likely to greet them with even more suspicion if they - as Hath did - wear furs covered in fresh blood.

"Where will Inodeirr go whilst we go into the city?" he asked. He had thoughts on the matter. Hath didnt chatter away and offer his opinions on everything he asked about. Scabhair almost certainly had that planned out, he merely had a passing interest in the matter.

 

[Scabhair]

Oh.

“Right.”

Her brow furrowed as she took in his spattered ensemble. In the blue glow of Lessat the specks took on a strange rust-colored hue. Either way it was plenty obvious to anyone with eyes what had caused it.

Not that Mayim was a particularly civilised place, but—

“Good idea. If for nothing else than for the sweat.” Wouldn’t want to mire the sheets of the only proper bed they’d sleep in until they reached Elbion.

“What does any beast do? Sleep and eat.” She steered them back towards the floodplains, for that much-needed wash before they marched in front of the Mayim guards. Or bandits. Or Sultan’s soldiers.

Who knew what was on the menu this week. It was Amol-Kalit, after all.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath had a number of follow on questions, but this was the most he had heard his own voice in a long time and he would find out in time. Whilst it was pleasant to have some conversation on the road for a change he didn't want to talk just for the sake of filling the air with words.

Scabhair and Inodeirr would know what they were doing. He would find out where the lion went and how it was retrieved when they reached Elbion.

Even in the light of Lessat the surface of the water was difficult to make out. Hath approached the edge of the river carefully. When he was certain that he couldn't see any shapes breaking the surface he set down his things. A shame to lose some steel back at the bridge, but better to walk away with your life than spare weapons.

Hath found another set of clothes. The only other set of clothes he owned. It was a shame he didn't have a spare pair of boots right now. Orcs were not known for modesty, but she was not of his clan and had spent a lot of time among humans so Hath meandered around ten metres up river. He carried the spare clothes along with his short sword which had been freed of its scarbard. Hath was used to being cautious on the road alone. Setting them down, he slipped off his jerkin to wash thoroughly. He wasn't a particularly broad shouldered orc. Some of the chieftains grew as wide as they were tall, but Hath covered a lot of ground day to day rather than standing around back at a Fort looking for fights to pick. He wasn't that heavily scarred either. By far the worst was a nasty scar across his shoulder blade. Three orcs had held him down as the shaman had removed the deeply embedded arrow head. The treatment had caused the scar rather than the initial wound. He couldn't remember anything having hurt a fraction as much as having that arrowhead removed.

 

[Scabhair]

A quick dip in the muddy Baal-Asha didn’t rinse much more than the blood. Still, they emerged marginally more presentable and present, ready to face whatever awaited them in Mayim.

Without Inodeirr to pace menacingly at her side, Scabhair appeared almost civilised. Up close the illusion shattered, of course – the tusks, the build, the strange hue of her skin – they all betrayed her for the same heathen as Hath.

Tonight they were lucky. No spears came hurling their way as they approached the gates of the small oasis. The inn still had a room to spare, a crackling fire to warm their bones on, and a spicy stew to boot.

Dawn found them fresh and rested, miles away from Mayim already. They passed their days treading dust; their nights keeping watch. On the fifth day, as the light was fleeing over the ridges of Seret, the spires of the College finally pierced the horizon.

It was also the first time any of them spoke since leaving the oasis. “Have you ever been to Elbion before?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"No," he replied plainly. "Never this far north." They continued on a gentle incline but when they created a line of rocks and dry grass he spoke again.

"Fuck," Hath announced, stopping to place his hands on his hips. "That is big."

The city had broken the horizon and had continued to stretch upwards as their perspective changed. Only now when he could see the last of the merchant carts entering the gates before they closed could he truly appreciate the scale of it.

"That's still a good day's march isn't it?" he asked incredulously. "We'll have to make camp and head for the gates tomorrow." His voice betrayed the slight twist of anxiety that settled deep in his gut.

 

[Scabhair]

Scabhair gauged the distance with a quick glance before shrugging her shoulders. “Could also just march through the night and arrive at first light.” Her expression eased off into a smile as she turned to face Hath again. “But we can make camp here. Do a spot of fishing, maybe.”

She nodded to the mirror-still surface of the Cairou stretching out ahead. The darkening sky seemed caught for a few moments in the basin before the last of the sun drifted behind the mountains and left them in the dull glow of the waking stars. Lessat was alone on the firmament tonight, with Pneria lost to sight somewhere in the south.

Without another word she shrugged off her pack and set to unlacing the rest of her attire. Soon there was a pile of clothes on the ground and a splash of water in the evening quiet.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath had bemoaned the lack of smoked fish when it had all been eaten. It was a good snack for the road. He had lost his last spear in the mad dash away from the horsemen on the back of a lion. Spears were cheap and he had picked up another in the small settlement by the oasis. They were cheap, but too useful for hunting or fending off dangerous predators on the road. His axe would have been harder to replace. Hath was quite fond of that axe. Magic properties that only seemed to extend as far as faintly glowing runes and never needing to be sharpened.

Hath watched the first lights appear in the distance, drawing out the silhouette of the city against the dark mountains. As Scabhair padded down towards the water's edge he unashamedly let his gaze follow the outline of her form. They hadn't spoken much at all over the last few days. It had seemed a comfortable silence to him, but then he wasn't used to the company. Might have been his line of questions had caused offence.

Hath discarded his clothing and carried both spear and shortsword down to the water's edge. As he always did, he kept the sword pulled free of its sheath close by. There didn't seem to be many bandits closer to the city, but he never liked being caught out without at least two weapons to hand.

Despite his careful steps the pebbles at the Cairou's bank clicked underfoot. The first kiss of the water between his toes stole his breath. Even only ankle deep it was a cold bite.

 

[Scabhair]

A bright laugh bubbled up from Scabhair as she peered out from the deep water. Only her eyes were visible above the surface, the rest of her body swallowed by the night and the murky lake.

“You should try swimming in the Crobhear sometime. Now that’s cold.” Though of course to a man hailing from the sun-scorched Aberresai, anything beyond the tepid flow of the twin Baal rivers would be downright icy.

She turned about in the lazy water and plunged down to burrow her feet in the soft silt. Silver eyes slivered open to a school of red fish whirling about in great loops, doing a curious dance about the pale, alien creature.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Despite being at his expense it was nice to hear some laughter. It made him think of the winter season when the clan would return to their permanent settlement on the edge of Falwood. He would miss that this year given how far away he was with the cold winds already starting to come down from the north.

"I'll survive," he chuckled, trying not to raise his voice to the point it would startle the fish. Orcs were adaptable. They lived in every corner of the land. Sometimes he wondered how that was so. If he lived in the mountains of the spine would he change to be like the orcs there? Short and slender with pale skin? In some ways he was well travelled, but he hadn't experienced much in the way of outside cultures. Bhathairk had seemed strange to him.

It reminded him that Scabhair had lived between two cultures, maybe even three, through her life. Was that liberating or was she perpetually on the fringes? His experience in the small town right before meeting her for the first time was a lesson in how it could be to be perceived as an outsider. He supposed visiting Elbion would tell him a lot.

"Where is the Crobhear?" he asked, wading until he was waist deep and his balls had made their hasty retreat.

Even his eyes had trouble penetrating the depths of the water in this light. The lioness might have fared better, but hadn't seemed like one to share such a small catch with the orcs.

 

[Scabhair]

Specks of water went flying everywhere as she emerged from the still depths. She sputtered out a few wayward strands before shaking out the whole red mane in one great, inelegant gesture.

Not quite unlike Inodeirr a few paces down the bank. The great beast didn’t much enjoy swimming, though she’d crossed rivers before where the nearest bridge was several leagues north or south of their location. Presently the gathamhr was hunched forward, lapping from the muddy water like it was the very elixir of life.

Scabhair snorted at the sight as she began collecting her hair into a loose braid down her back.

“Way up in the Spine. I’ve heard the local tribes call its valley the Cradle. Legend goes our people were born there.” She rolled her shoulders into an easy shrug before wading back out towards the shallows. “What’s the farthest north you’ve been?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Not much farther than Bhathairk," he replied after a moment of thought. He didn't use maps to travel; Hath followed his feet. The orcish settlement had been significantly more days travelling north than this. Even in the half-light the vibrant colour of her hair stood out when she shook it out. It wasn't a colour he saw often on his kind. In fact, the only time he had he was fairly certain it had been from a crude dye. Hath thought it quite suited her.

"And I do know that story at least," he said. Hath pushed the point of his spear into the silt such that the haft pointed up out of the water. He dropped his shoulders under the surface but stopped short of dipping his entire head under.

Already he had seemed ignorant on a range of things. It had never perturbed him that much, but the next few days would bring plenty of potential to make himself seem foolish. Hath was keen to latch onto something familiar.

"The whispering winds rushed through the Nest and breathed life into our people. The dwarves are of the stone and belong with the stone, but the orcs are of the wind. The orcs belong to every corner of the land, following the winds of change, not rooted in the ground," he quoted softly. Likely it wasn't word for word to the stories Scabhair had heard. Every tribe probably passed down their own versions more relevant to their way of life.

 

[Scabhair]

She smiled wide until her tusks glinted blue in the light of Lessat. Leaning over to fish a rough stone from her pack, Scabhair began scrubbing her skin free of the road grime. She’d long learned not to aggravate human prejudice about orcish appearance and custom.

(Even if she would bet her hand that orcs maintained better hygiene than most city-dwellers.)

“Ours goes a bit different,” she said, peering at the silhouette of Hath against the emerging constellations before her eyes wandered skyward. “In the beginning when the mountains were still young, the wind wandered the world alone. He didn’t mind then, for the land was new and he had yet to see everything there was to see. But as seasons passed and he had visited every corner of the circle twice over, the wind began to feel lonely.”

Abandoning her scrubbing for a moment, Scabhair used the oblong stone to point out a trail of stars low above the spires of Elbion. “So he turned to the sky, for it was the only place he had yet to see. He trailed and travelled, blowing north to south and back again; he pulled across the long reaches of Aberresai and Baara, billowed in great gusts down the slopes of Seret, but could not reach the sky and the stories she told him every night.”

Her hand moved along as she spoke, marking specks on the firmament as if they were illuminations in a codex to accompany the tale. “Until finally one dark winter, when the clouds hid her lovely lineaments from him months on end, the wind climbed all the way up to the peaks of the Spine. It snowed all the way down in Aberresai that year, and in Ixchel too, for the wind banished every last cloud from the mountains so that he could be closer to his beloved sky.”

She waved to the dark line of the eastern horizon, where the jagged shape of the mountains would begin to emerge if they rode another month Spineward. Her smile was a subdued thing as she finally returned her gaze to the other orc. “It was that night that the first Pillar was born, and our people from it – when ra Deirigrinn stepped into shadow and ra Tastlai followed, so that the wind- and the star-spirits could dance together across the sky.”

Scabhair squinted a moment longer at the brightest constellation of the northern sky, ra Thad. The humans would call it ‘the Father’, if they called it anything at all. But in her time spent at the College, she’d encountered no scholar or book devoted to the divine subject of the stars and moons.

She sighed and chucked the stone back on her clothes.

“Bit lengthier, eh?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath fell silent. Enraptured by the story, his eyes only strayed from Scabhair once when he instinctively followed her gaze towards the stars. It felt like a long time since he had spent the last winter with his tribe. The offspring of her tribe were watched by their parents, but it was more of a collective duty to raise them. Stories were the past of their people, their heritage, the core of what it was to be an orc. They were also lessons for the future. Only as he had grown up had he started to realise how many tales were lessons wrapped in the entertainment of the spoken word.

Scabhair had given her story the full treatment. Everyone had their own way of telling even the same version of a tale, but he had enjoyed focusing on the rhythm of her voice, letting it paint a picture in his mind. Hath had seen a wind spirit once. A little vortex of wind that moved of its own accord. The day after it had brought his tribe some rain when they had needed it once. Despite all the days travelling alone he was often rooted in considering the practical day-to-day aspects instead of considering the wider world. Perhaps, he thought to himself, that was a little dwarven of him.

Hath nodded in agreement. He was almost surprised to feel a flash of embarrassment. They weren't a gathering around the fire sharing tales. It was just the two of them, talking as they cleaned. He wasn't one to feel homesick, happy to follow his feet for weeks on end, but the end of the tale made him feel a twinge of longing for home too.

"Thank you for telling it," he said quietly. He splashed some water across his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck where the sun seemed to fall most of the day and his skin had become dry. "I would like to share some more," he added. "Perhaps when we have a fire going and some food."

 

[Scabhair]

“Thank you for listening.” She tilted her head at Hath. “I’ll collect some kindling and get one started. Can you find the fish in this light or shall I have Inodeirr do it?”

There was a grin in her voice – a tongue in her cheek – easy enough to hear despite her back being turned.

A quick bit of foraging in the nearby brush was all it took. The Cairou basin fed the surrounding soil well with the stone and rain from the Seret, and the foliage was a bright contrast to the dearth of the desert. She returned to their campsite with an armful of twigs and dried nettle, ready to catch and hold a spark.

Once the warmth of the fire seeped into their bones and the warmth of food in their belly, Scabhair stretched out on her bedroll and trained expectant silver eyes on the other orc.

“Have you any stories of the old Aberresai? When it was still covered in forests as dense as Falwood?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Stubborn determination had brought the fish to the fire. Her tongue could be as firmly in her cheek as physically possible but Hath wasnt going to let a challenge like that go unmet. However, his right should was still sore from the exertion.

Hath sat cross-legged, watching the fire. The flickering light caught the furrow in his brow as he considered the stories he knew.

"Not many that focus on the forest. Well, perhaps. There is the fall of Kizrak the Shadow. How he was undone by the first King of what became Vel'Anir. Back before the humans deforested the area and over farmed the land until it turned dry."

 

[Scabhair]

Scabhair made an amused noise in the back of her throat as she chewed on another bite of fish. She waved Hath on with the remains of her previous snack. The vertebrae wiggled.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Inodeirr looked up expectantly at a piece of food being waved in the air before placing her head back on her paws. Hath had assumed the lion was fast asleep.

"Back before it was Vel'anir a human - with one of those human titles - was trying to unite a kingdom. The man had paid another man to stab his own brother in the night to earn his position and people were starting to question if he had the wisdom to lead them. As humans tended to do he looked to see what he could take from others to prove his worth.

"He paid mercenaries to gather in arms and attacked the orc tribes to the north. Striking their camps whilst they were dispersed. They took land and the orcs moved north. But within a few years they had over farmed the land and destroyed the soil."

Hath reached down and grasped a bundle of long grass. He wrapped his fist around it and pulled it free. With a shake he sent the earth it had bound drifting to the ground.

"The savanna was still there back then, but they say the grasslands extended much further north, so did the woodlands. This leader turned his eyes towards the forests north of his lands. But the tribes had not forgotten. Kizrak had gathered the scattered families and sent them deep into the forests. These trees were taller than giants, trunks as wide as towers.

"When the would-be king sent his men to start cutting them down, Kizrak would have them ambushed. When they rode into the woods they found nothing but death as soon as night fell.

"The humans gathered an army and marched North. A neat block of shining soldiers behind shining shields as far as the eye could see. The human general called for the orcs to march out and meet them in the field. Kizrak called out from high in the trees. 'I will step forward, if your leader will too. Then we will settle this.'"

Hath shook his head and snorted. "So the magnificent human army stood there looking amazing. Orders went back to their Duke or Baron or Prince. Orders came back. Not their leader. They marched into the forests. Three days they marched deeper until the forests swallowed them. Their scouts kept going missing. Messengers too. Soon the left couldn't talk to the right. And the vanguard couldn't tell anyone they were under attack."

Hath grinned. He imagined rushing through the darkest depths of a forest with axe in hand. The shouting, the chaos as the humans tried to form lines but didn't know which way to turn.

"Most who went in came back out, but the human army was broken. So the would-be king turned to the elves."

Normally around this point there were a few remarks about the nature of elves, but Hath decided to stick to the point.

"They took an offer to be left alone in their woods if they helped the humans clear the orc infestation. They sang at the trees day and night but they would not part for their words.

"This man turned to the dwarves. Great machines trundled forth turning the most proud tree to splinters. Kizrak came in the night and stole their wheels.

"So they turned... To the orcs. Found all who would fight for coin. Jintando, who has a hundred of his own stories, promised to bring Kizrak's head. With twice the orcs Jintando marched on the forests. But when he got there he called out for Kizrak. He made him an offer. Single combat to the death. If Kizrak won then his people would be left alone. In Jintando won then his people would leave the forests and head north. After all, the coin was agreed for one head.

"Now this is where many stories talk of a battle that lasted for days, but that never happens right? Kizrak was cunning, but Jintando the greatest sword of our kind for a generation. I doubt it lasted long before Kizrak was cut down before his people. But it was a good fight. His head hacked from his still warm body. His people left the forests - which were cut down - and went north. Kizrak lost his war. But everyone remembers his name. No fucker remembers the name of the man who wanted everyone else's things. He never became a king for all he brought his people was dying land and new enemies."

Hath gave a curt nod at the end, thumping the outside of his thigh with his fist as a mark of respect for a fallen warrior. Perhaps he wasn't the best at the longest stories. There were much better orators who could truly paint a vivid picture with words, but at least he thought he had got the point across.

 

[Scabhair]

Hath story-told of a stubborn orc and a greedy human, which, Scabhair thought on reflection, summed up a good half of all orcish lore. There were, of course, self-serving elves too, and the foolish dwarves who relied on tools overmuch and too little on the cunning of beasts.

The scholars called them fables. Scabhair called them arrogant asses.

Humans liked to stack their knowledge into books, call it ‘academic’, stuff the lot onto shelves and forget about it. Orcs though, they wrote nothing down, and instead carried it through generations in their own thoughts, on their own skin, through their ways of life.

So it was with a smile that she listened to the tale the hunter wove. Full of lessons, biased as some of them might’ve been, and good for the mind to chew upon on those long migrations through the steppe.

She set down a new bundle of shafts she’d whittled down from a young ash at the edge of their camp. The fletching would come next, provided she could find a good bird to pluck. Spirits knew there weren’t many of the proper sort ‘round the Cairou – she’d combed the region east to west during her college years.

Went to show how little appreciation they had for good archery.

“I could take a look in the library when we get to Elbion. I bet that there’s a record somewhere saying how Kizrak started it all.” She tapped the side of her nose with her knife. “And I bet they remember the fucker’s name.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

It took Hath a moment to remind himself that Scabhair had been given a formal education and could actually read. It was a rare skill among humans, let alone orcs.

Despite that, Hath was glad that she smiled through the story. It was the most he had spoken in one go for several years and it felt good to have it appreciated. He knew that he wasn't the best at spinning a tale, but it was still tradition. They all took part, even if everyone settled in silence when they realised one of the more talented weaver of words stood. There were tales of their history that were more deeply ingrained. Then there were rowdy fireplace stories to be told over a few drinks where a disagreement on the details could lead to fists.

"That would be interesting to know," he chuckled. Unless it painted an entirely different picture and then he would probably take offence. They could deal with that when they got there. Hath reached into his pack and found the right knife for a job.

"If you show me how you want the nocks done I can put some in," he offered. "Have some spare points but might be heavier than what you want." Hath would understand if she wanted to hand craft each of her own arrows, but as long as she showed the method she used he would be happy to follow. The difficulty came in matching the spine of the arrow and weight of the point to your own bow and draw, but everything else still had to match from shaft to shaft.

 

[Scabhair]

A thoughtful puff of air slipped past her tusks as she considered his offer.

“Show me yours,” she said, gesturing to his quiver. They each carried a recurve, limbs curling away from the belly when they were unstrung. But the materials – wood, sinew, horn – they varied between their lands as much as much as growth and beasts, not to mention the ways they went about bonding the three together.

For comparison Scabhair pulled out a finished arrow of her own and held it up alongside Hath’s handiwork.

She pursed her lips.

“I wonder if there’s a story of how the wind gifted us knowledge of the bomhu,” she spoke quietly, running a finger across the stiff fletching. “Every tribe I’ve encountered on my travels valued the art of it. If you can’t put a beast down at a hundred paces you’re better suited for the field of crops than battle.”

The knife glinted in her hand as she flipped it around and got back to nocking thr shafts. “Of course, there’s no orc I’ve met that can’t.”

Because orcs that couldn’t died out long ago. And was that the right way to go about it?

A question for the ages.

“Your arrows seem fine.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath chuckled as the comment. He balanced an arrow point in the palm of his hand. With a flick he sent it spinning on its point. Spinning the arrow gave a good sense of how straight it was. even the slightest variation could be felt as a wobble in the palm or a resistance to spinning. It was admittedly easier to do using two hands and blowing across the fletchings to send it spinning but it had taken Hath a lot of practise to balance an arrow on one hand and there were precious few times when Hath felt the need to show off.

"Can't make a bow for shit, but I can make straight arrows. An elf once told me we stole the knowledge from them," he said. "Called my bow a crude stick fashioned after their own art. Unfortunately he could run away very quickly."

Hath took one of the shafts and started working a nock into the base. Kneeling down, he kept her finished arrow across his lap for comparison. He tended to cut his nocks a little deeper than hers. Little wood shavings floated to the ground as he whittled away with deft flicks of the hand. He would also need to ensure he used the same amount of string to reinforce it. He realised he had strayed into the territory of elves and her mixed heritage again, but at least not as bluntly as when he had made a sweeping statement about them as a race.

"We met a tribe that only used spears to hunt in the far north. I guess that's more simple than matching spine and point and keeping your string dry. And learning to shoot." From below his bowed head his gaze flicked up towards her, a glint of challenge in his eye.

"I wonder who is the better shot..."