Dragon (s)layers

Chapter 6 -- The Assassin's Apprentice

"In the Forgotten Lands, children who make it past their fifth year are trained in the use of nets and bola, by the tenth year the child starts to learn the trade that will serve the family and their tribe best. Always in that order, because tribes have to be flexible to reform in the event of a schism, sudden land change or mass loss of life.

The reason behind this compartmentalization is simple; the attrition rate of hunters is so high that it's entirely possible that a tribe can be left without hunters. Conversely, the lore keepers and historians of the tribe-- those who manufacture the weapons used by the hunters and warriors-- are so commonly targeted by other tribes and even the environment itself that it's impossible to keep them trained to skill.

The lore keepers hold the secrets of Sunless Steel, cook and clean and maintain the camps, the Hunters keep them fed. In the Forgotten Lands, you are one or the other; the plains don't allow room for the lazy and feckless."

-Peson Tens

"Life Far Removed From Home"

~Felicia~

Splash!

"Come on!" Felicia sprang from her bed of pine needles and twigs, bounding over on her injured arm by instinct into a flawless back-flop when it gave way under her. She grabbed for it muttering a strangled cry as the tender muscles inside her shoulder reminded her just what a bad idea it was to rely on it. She barely made out Lostariel's form in the early morning gloom-- owing mostly to her pale skin which stood out in the moonlight.

She was wearing her running pants, the ones that barely came to her knee, and a short sleeved shirt. In the week since she'd started her training, Felicia knew that meant they were going to be running. She didn't even bother trying to stifle her groan any more.

Lostariel didn't bother going easy on her any more, either. They'd somehow come to an unspoken agreement that they'd tolerate each others eccentricities for the sake of Felicia's training; like a scorpion tolerated a ride on a turtle's back across a river. The morning run was a nightmare as usual, Felicia set a pace for herself which Lostariel wouldn't let her stick to, insisting she could go faster and needed to 'apply herself'. They ran until sun up and then walked back to camp along the main road, silence leading the way as it was doing more and more frequently.

She'd all but given up hope of extracting any kind of meaningful interactions out of Lostariel, when they talked it was strictly about mindset and the desire to succeed, about how only through pushing oneself could one hope to learn about themselves, or about how seemingly pointless the vast majority of peoples' lives were.

It was depressing and Felicia hated it, but she hated the thought that Lostariel actually felt that way more than she did hearing about it. So instead of trying to tackle it head on, she contented herself with doing little things to try and get a smile out of the woman-- little things, like tenderizing and seasoning the meat she caught the night prior or offering her a massage when she seemed to be tense. But none of it phased her. When it came to it, in the last week the only thing she'd learned about the woman she considered her friend was that she had more in common with a western house cat than she did a human being.

Touch only when allowed, if something is desired it will be asked for, and above all, stay away unless willing to face the consequences. But even in spite of her nature, she was always calm and even a bit distant at times. Every once in a great while she'd start to open up only to slam shut in the next instant and leave Felicia as confused and wary as the killer herself was.

It drove her nuts.

A few hundred feet from the camp Felicia dared break the silence, "Is there ever going to be a day that you don't start us running first thing?"

"Not likely," Lostariel said casually.

"Sometimes," Felicia glanced at the woman and tried for a playful nudge. "I think you just like watching my chest bounce all over the place."

"I consider that a fringe benefit."

Felicia blinked. Did she really just. . . .no, she had to be joking. The teenager dampened her lips, blushing hotly as they trundled on down the path. "Okay, you win."

"I tend to."

The silence lasted another few minutes until they got to the edge of their little camp. Felicia's horse was already finishing off the local grass patches and on their approach he edged away from Lostariel in the same way she kept her distance from him and their uneasy co-existence was maintained for another morning.

Without a word between them they broke camp and packed their bags, saddled the horse and got everything ready to move on a moment's notice if need be. The process was fluid, almost second nature by now, even though ultimately Lostariel avoided touching the horse when she didn't have to it had been easy to convince her to have her bag saddle ready. It was a small victory, but it was Felicia's small victory, dammit.

When they were finished they went back to the camp spot and sat facing one another. Lostariel guided her through a rigorous stretching routine that made every part of her already sore muscles all the more sore-- even if secretly she liked watching her mentor flex out to full, perfect splits and placing the bottoms of her feet against the ground over her hips while she was face down on it. She always challenged Felicia to match her stretch, and she was getting better with it, but she was never trained for that kind of thing and so her flexibility came in small doses and gains which were heralded only by a 'good' from the trained killer.