Welcome to Gaia! ::

“Go on,” Ataya encouraged around a yawn. “If you’re going to fetch it, you best hurry. He’ll be out in a moment.”

After their scolding of the day before, things had progressed uneventfully for the most part, other than the extra heap load of chores and, of course, Akara’s newfound weapon. She had yet to break the news to either of their parents, hesitant the day before in the wake of their father’s anger and not wanting to spoil the moment by having him still actively cross with her at the time. After some debate between the two of them and what to do with the weapon, Ataya had suggested she leave it in the stables at least overnight and bring it with her to their next practice session with their father the following morning.

Dawn had rolled in, crisp and cool, white blue at the edge of the surrounding mountains, the sun not yet visible in the sky.

Far too early to even begin pondering the prospect of waking, in Ataya’s opinion, but such were his father’s habits. With another stray, bleary glance in his sister’s direction, he gave her a light, ‘encouraging’ nudge with his elbow.

“G’on…he might even—” Yawn, “ —be so pleased, he chooses to cancel practice…” Ataya accompanied the statement with a rub to his eyes and a tired sift of his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes I do wonder why the gods imagined mornings as something that should actually exist as anything more than a vague unpleasant concept designed for sleeping through, always…”

Detraeus loved mornings. Crisp and brisk with a new day. Generally, he did not expect his children to partake in quite so early of a schedule as he did, but in the aftermath of the day before, he considered rousing them from their beds sooner than their habits might otherwise dictate to be in keeping with their discipline. As he approached the two of them, though, his gaze immediately settled on what Akara had brought with her. His brow furrowed.

“That,” he said as he moved up to them, “was to be yours — though you oughtn’t have removed it from where I placed it — but it is faulty besides. It does not shoot properly. Return it to the stables.”

Detraeus stilled at first, thrown by the reaction — entirely unused to having Akara respond to him in such a manner — but a moment later, his lips pursed and he took a step towards her. “It has not been given to you yet, or anyone. It is not yours, and it is dangerous. It’s arrows do not fly properly and if you wield it, are more likely to hurt your brother or I than hit your target. I gave you an order, Akara—”

“Perhaps you should let her shoot it,” Ataya spoke up, and Detraeus’ gaze snapped to him.

He opened his mouth, tail bristling for a moment. Then, in a moment of spontanuity, Detraeus snorted and caught at his son’s shoulder, drawing him back from Kara. “Very well,” he said. “Step up.” After guiding Ataya out of any range where he thought he might possibly be harmed by a stray shot, he gestured Akara forward. “Show us what…your bow can do.”

Only on repeating the phrase a second time aloud, did it occur to Detraeus that it seemed a very strange, and specific statement. Akara had no reason yet to call it ‘hers’, he had no idea how she had even come upon it except for perhaps curiosity during her stable cleaning session of the afternoon before. Too late to withdraw his order, though, and so Detraeus could only step back to watch with a strange sort of budding curiosity as he waited for his daughter to fire.

Detraeus watched his daughter raise to fire. As obscure as the notion seemed to him in that moment, the bow fit in her grip, bending to her pull and holding rock steady in nocked position as she prepared to release. When she shot, the arrow sank itself perfectly. Deep. On target. Confident. For several long seconds, he could only stare as the factors clicked into place.

The bow had not answered him.

Of course the bow had not answered him. It was as disobedient and stubborn as Avarice would have been under any other master, as would any other imprinted weapon. His pulse picked up at the implications, his throat tightening with a rush of unexpected emotion, and seconds later, some cross between a laugh and something else was falling out of his throat as he moved towards her. He knelt in the grass, catching her cheek in his palm.

“Yours,” he repeated, hoarse through the lump in his throat as his gaze scoured her features. “You’ve…chosen.” His smile stretched stretched his lips, his pride bubbling over with the rest of his happiness, too much to contain at once, and he tugged her in to a clinging hug, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a kiss to her forehead as he did. “My little girl,” he murmured, “…an archer, mm?”

Ataya, meanwhile, eyed the grass, weighing the pros and cons of trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep on the dew soaked blades. On the upside, Father probably wouldn’t notice. On the other hand, he would likely get grass in his hair…

Decisions, decisions.

Detraeus blinked. “Mad…? No…” He shook his head. “Of course I am not—how could I be mad at you for this?”

A murmured, “Told you so,” may or may not have been audible from the side.

Detraeus paid it no mind. “I am proud, Akara…beyond words. You honor me…and I hope that I can do justice in training you with your weapon. I…did not anticipate that you would come on it in such a manner, but things are as they are, and I could not be happier.”

Dewy grass was not nearly so unpleasant as Ataya might have expected, and passable, he decided, as a bed.