Chapter Text
When you walk, you fall. With every step you fall forward, and with every step you catch yourself again. A cycle of falling and catching, pretending to be a straight line. If you ever stop catching, you fall completely. But for as long as you are awake, you will do your best to catch yourself.
The ground was hard stone, and the sky overhead was far too close. Purple blurred the edges of the world, a shimmer that was almost imperceptible and almost blinding. A fall, a catch. A fall, a catch. A fall, a falter, a catch.
A shimmering nothingness in a stone tunnel. A sense that there must be a self. There must be, somewhere. How else was there a feeling? There must be an observer in order to observe. There must be feet to catch, a body to fall, a man to stumble onward. There must be a being for these senses to reach.
He pushed forward in the tunnel. He was alone. He could not tell where he was, where he’d come from. All the same he pressed on, falling, catching. Shining.
The purple faded and he blinked. He was him. He was a self. His name was Robin, and he was surrounded by stone. These realizations felt basic, and yet paramount. Robin fell, and he caught. He stumbled, but still caught. And he moved toward the light at the end of the tunnel.
A Majiri sat in the grass, the sun shining on his purple skin, his green eyes following a stray butterfly. He was not the only one interested. The bright blue hound at his side also eyed the colorful wings, and he slowly moved towards the butterfly, trying to get closer without startling it. They both completely ignored the approaching footsteps until they stopped right behind them.
The Majiri finally acknowledged the human just before he had a chance to speak.
“Robin, I presume?”
Robin hesitated, caught off guard. The hound, forgetting the butterfly, spun around to greet him, nudging his nose into Robin’s hand. Robin, in turn, rubbed the dog’s fur.
“Don’t act surprised I know your name.” The Majiri stood to face the human. “I know everything that happens around here. Including when a new human shows up.” He folded his arms, rolling his shoulders to adjust the bow hanging across his back. “My name is Hassian.”
“I figured,” Robin responded warily. To the Majiri, he seemed to have a thick accent, as most humans did, but he still spoke clearly. He held up a piece of paper. “Got your letter.”
“My what?”
The corner of Robin’s mouth twitched. “You know everything that happens, but not your own letter?”
Hassian stared at him for a few moments in confusion and annoyance before he realized. “The form letter. The council had me write one for all the newcomers.” He gestured at the bow on Robin’s back. “Here for a lesson, I suppose?”
“Yep.” Robin clumsily pulled the bow from his back. He seemed like he was trying to be smooth, but he almost dropped it in the process. Snatching it before it hit the ground, he froze for a second, then gave a small sigh of relief.
The bow was not well made. It was hasty work with decent wood. Whenever he made bows for the newcomers, Hassian intentionally made them somewhat flimsy. He found it was much more productive to let the humans break the bows and learn to repair them than to try to make a bow that withstands the misuse of a beginner. Robin, however, didn’t know that, and the last thing he wanted to do was mess up the tool he’d been given in front of the man who gave it to him.
The dog went to nudge the bow back into Robin’s hand, or perhaps simply to give encouragement, but Hassian urged him away. “Tau, leave it.”
Robin held the bow and rummaged for an arrow.
“No arrow. Let me see your form first before I let you use anything sharp. I do not need you hitting some bystander.”
Robin blinked in surprise, but switched the bow into his left hand, holding the grip easily. He examined the string, trying to figure out his strategy. Hassian didn’t rush him. He’d rather the human figure things out before he drew something that could hurt him.
Wrapping two fingers around the string, Robin took a breath and raised the bow. He started to draw, but then let out a grunt of surprise and lowered the bow, rolling his shoulder to stretch it.
“It’s not that heavy.” Hassian raised an eyebrow. He glanced at Robin’s thin arms.
Robin looked at him in frustration. “It’s more weight than I thought it would be.” Hassian’s words had clearly stung his pride. Taking a breath, he squared his shoulders and in one fluid motion, he raised the bow and drew it.
He couldn’t hold it drawn for more than half a second before he let out a whoosh of breath and lowered the bow without firing.
Hassian nodded thoughtfully. “Have you used a bow before?”
Robin blinked and looked down. Hassian backpedaled.
“Never mind, I forgot humans don’t have any memories. Nonetheless, I do think you’ve learned to use a bow before. You hold the string correctly, you draw with your back and not your arms, and you know better than to dry-fire.”
Robin smiled.
“That is not praise.”
The smile vanished.
“These are the most basic principles. You are not strong enough to hold the bow and aim, and you may have fired before, but it was clearly a long time ago. You will need to build your strength and relearn some technique.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Robin muttered.
Hassian subtly rolled his eyes. “Very well. The windmill right there. It’s large, and it’s not moving. Walk ten paces away from it and try to hit it.”
Robin hesitated. He glanced over Hassian’s face, trying to tell if he was angry. Hassian watched him coolly, his face inscrutable. He seemed a bit annoyed more than anything else.
Robin raised his chin and squared his shoulders. He walked up to the side of the building and turned, taking ten paces away from it. Turning, those ten paces seemed longer than he’d anticipated – about 25 feet with his long legs – but the windmill wasn’t too far, and it was big. This shouldn’t be hard. He set his stance, held the bow firmly and nocked an arrow. Looking at the building, he drew.
But Hassian was right. He couldn’t hold the draw long enough to aim. He fired in the general direction of the windmill, and the arrow didn’t even reach it, falling into the grass a few feet away from it.
“I missed,” Robin commented good-naturedly.
“I noticed.” Hassian ignored his attempt to be lighthearted and turned to leave. “You will need to build strength. How you do that is not my problem.”
Robin gave a huff. “You’re not a good teacher.”
“I’m not supposed to be a teacher. I’m a hunter.”
“I’m not sure you’re a good hunter, either.”
Hassian stopped. Tau whined a bit and nudged his hand. Turning back around, he looked at the human for a moment. Robin met his eyes defiantly. There was a hint of a smirk on his lips. The human was deliberately provoking him.
It worked. Hassian did not like this human. He did not like his little smirk, he did not like his arrogance, he did not like the grip on his bow. He did not like the small, successful sting to his pride. So he scratched Tau’s ears and pointed towards the lake. “There’s a small red animal next to those trees, at the entrance to the docks. Do you see it?”
Robin squinted. He barely saw it, a lump of red-orange fur moving through the grass, an impossible distance away. Hassian was already pulling his bow off his back. Tau barked in excitement and made a play bow, ready to take off.
Nocking an arrow, Hassian watched the chapaa closely. This would be a challenging shot, even for him, but he’d made harder ones in the past. The little devil shuffled through the grass, head down, searching. The string felt snug in his fingers, fitting into the knuckles like they were built for it, not the other way around. His eyes followed the ball of fur as it moved through the grass, then stopped and lifted its head. In one fluid movement, he raised and drew, the wood and leather creaking.
His bow had a much, much heavier draw weight than the ones he gave away. Refined with years of improvements, strengthened with use and care, from both himself and his mother, every part had been replaced, becoming a new bow again and again, stronger and stronger as he grew up. Its power in his hands bit into his fingers, drawing strength from his back, bending around him like a muscle pulled taught. At that weight, it wasn’t a good idea to hold it in a draw for much more than a breath or two. But then, he only needed a breath to aim.
The arrow sailed with a soft flitting noise, and he heard Robin suck in his breath as the chapaa fell.
Tau immediately took off, shooting across the field almost as fast as the arrow had. He skidded to a halt next to the carcass and grabbed it, carrying it gently in his mouth back to the two men.
Hassian took it from him with an affectionate scratch behind the ear. The arrow had gone cleanly into the creature’s skull. It didn’t suffer.
Hassian glanced at Robin, who was gaping at the chapaa in disbelief. “Chapaas are not native here. They destroy the vegetation and interrupt the natural balance of the woods. If you want to earn a place here, you will help eradicate them.” He tucked the carcass into his pack to clean later and turned to leave again. “It is only right for the humans to help, before your kind begins to overrun us as well.”
Robin turned his head indignantly, but his words got caught in his throat. Instead, he watched the hunter depart down the path towards town center.
And in spite of himself, the human felt an amused smile tug at the corners of his mouth.