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…sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy…

Naqenni hung from a branch, fingers crimped tight to its bark and breath sucking in as she went. Sturdy — or well enough so to support her minimal weight, in any case — and low enough to the ground for her to climb to it, the leafy appendage was still high enough to hold her well off of the ground whilst dangling from it. She began to swing her weight to the beat of every off-count.

Eight-one, eighty-two — swing — eight-three, eight-four — swish back. The exercise as she saw it accomplished many things, among them: building up the endurance of her grip, her callouses, her balance and arm strength. It also released tension, allowing her to focus through exertion on her body, not her overactive mind.

Elsewise, she could get so angry—

Breathe in. She brushed the pervasive thought away, and focused on attempting to lift and scale herself onto the branch itself. Once atop it, she tucked her back to the trunk of the tree, unfastened her dulled practice blades from her hips, and exhaled as she lifted to hold them out evenly to either side of her in a perfect ‘T’. Eyes shut, she began her count again.

One, two, three, four…

Naqenni stiffened, and peeked one eye open to squint downward.

An alkidike, grown, but one of the younger ones so far as she could tell. Not one of the women she’d directly interacted with before. Intricate floral markings decorated her skin, and — perhaps most immediately interesting of all — she carried a practice bow with her. Naqenni drew a breath, debated, and eventually opted to remain as she was, arms out as she talked—a distraction wasn’t excuse enough to stop work in battle, after all, so why should it be for training?

“Naqenni,” she said. “My name is Naqenni, not ‘child.’ I won’t be one that much longer, anyway. And I’m sitting in a tree holding my blades out to my sides with my eyes closed, or I was. Who are you? And what are you doing? Do you know how to use that bow? One of my mothers can shoot, but it’s not what she’s best at. Lots of your sisters like blades best…”

As the muscles in her arms began to tire, Naq rolled her shoulders, adjusting her back and allowing her feet to drop at the knee to either side of the branch she’d scaled.

Zandala.

Naqenni repeated the name to herself mentally. Mother Kasama would say that there was power in names, and it always did a woman good to remember each and every one that she could. One never knew when knowing the right one might prove itself useful. When the woman — Zandala — confirmed that she knew how to use the bow, Naqenni’s interest peaked, the smaller tentacles at her sides coiling a fraction up with her curiosity.

A moment later, she puffed, leaning back and rolling her arms once before bringing them in to her sides and fastening the practice blades there. “They won’t fall off. I’ve been practicing.” It didn’t seem to bear mentioning why or who had incited this particular form of practice, but needless to say, Naqenni had no intention of being caught awake with arms that could ever be classified as ‘weak’ again. She would see to that. Aloud, however, she shifted topics in time with her weight as she moved to dangle both legs over her tree limb perch.

“I do tire of them, though. They can only go so far or do so much. They get boring after a while. I will learn to use them.” Turning to grip the branch, Naqenni hopped, and swung, legs dangling high midair only a fraction of a moment before she let go, and dropped, landing solid on the forgiving earth. “I’ll be the best with them. But they aren’t very exciting, and it seems stupid to only know how to use one thing, when battles must present you with all kinds of different things that just one weapon might not be good at. I want to learn everything, but…”

Eyeing Zandala’s bow for a moment, Naqenni curled her toes, and then rolled her shoulders back. She knew that strength was highly valued by her tribe of cousins, and her own sisters, and she valued it as they did. Unfortunately, as she was learning by the day, if slowly, brute and upfront strength did not always seem to favor her. Or, if she were to be truly honest, very rarely did. She pursed her lips.

“It’s smarter to have something you can kill your enemy with before they know you’re there. Just because they never got to fight because they didn’t notice you doesn’t make you weaker or a coward. I like Mother Kasama’s bow…and yours…” She tipped her head a half inch sidelong. “When did you begin to learn? You should let me shoot it. I could, you know.”

Naqenni brightened as the older woman encouraged her, chest swelling with private satisfaction. Yes. This was how her insight ought to answered to, and it seemed all the more ridiculous in retrospect that it wasn’t always. Never mind that, though, for now. She had good company. Like minded at that. So far, all the older women who she’d spoken with seemed to prefer their blades and yet, the further she progressed in her training — young as she still was — the more convinced she became that blades would not be the ultimate path for her.

She trotted alongside Zandala, and then, when the alkidike split into a run, Naqenni mirrored her, breaking into a sprint and reveling in it as she did. The run, quick as it was, was over too soon—but anticipation of the follow-up made it well worth it, and Naqenni rocked back on her heels, then bounced forward onto the front pads of her feet, toes curling as she caught her breath and eyes locked on Zandala’s bow.

At the alkidike’s invitation of, “Ready?” however, Naqenni blinked. She glanced to the woman, to the bow, and back. Would she really—? Was she to do it entirely herself? A second passed, and another, and it became potently obvious that yes, the alkidike had taken her full on her word that she could manage such a thing and handle the weapon on her own. As the thought settled, a combination of thrill — and the barest pinch of anxious abashment — rippled through her.

She curbed the urge to swallow. She could do this. Of course she could do this. And she crouched, bending to pick up the bow and an arrow and eyeing them before glancing to the target ahead. He caretaker-mother Kasama had allowed her to watch before, and touch her bow, and on a handful of occasions, she had let her ‘shoot’ while personally guiding Naqenni’s motions—standing at her back and helping her to draw the bow, aim, and fire, with a running explanation all the while.

Never before had she actually shot one on her own.

It was startling, how much farther away targets seemed without her mother at her back. Naqenni crimped her toes, squinted, nocked her arrow — or tried, frowned, looked, and fit it more properly — and eyed the target. It wasn’t that far away. She’d seen it done a thousand times. It couldn’t be that hard. Not for her.

The draw weight was significantly heavier when it was only her strength pulling it, but she managed some—a little further, and then—

Thhwwwp!

The drawstring snapped from her fingers before she’d meant, the arrow went—somewhere?—and Naqenni felt her cheeks heat, trying to, as surreptitiously as possible, gain some idea of where the arrow had actually gone without making that search obvious. Because it was certainly nowhere near the visible vicinity of the target.

Naqenni’s face stayed dark with heat as Zandala went on to explain the ‘proper’ method for shooting. Fortunately for her ego, the initial comment — “That shot would either kill you or a sister in battle…” — was all the verbal criticism that came, other than corrections.

Thus, Naqenni’s retorting snap of, “I can do it again better—” was aborted midway through, and she settled for steeping in the heat of her blush as she listened and adjusted her body’s stance and angle in accordance with the alkidike’s instruction. She could do better. She would do better, and really, surely even she couldn’t be expected to get it perfectly on the first try.

At least she hadn’t shot herself in the foot.

As per Zandala’s guidance, Naq nocked and pinched the next arrow, squinting with one eye, and then the other as she attempted to determine her ‘dominant’ eye. She missed her second shot, and her third. And her fourth. They all went decidedly forward, however, and within range of sight, at least. They also did not leave her fingers until she intended to loose them, which was some variety of plus. She pinched her toes in the earth, pursing her lips and blowing upwards as she squinted at the target through narrowed eyelids—as though it were the destination’s fault for not being where her arrows landed, as opposed to the other way around.

It tempted her to ask how long it had taken before Zandala’s shots began to hit, but she didn’t want to hear an unfavorable answer, so she avoided asking. Instead, she said, “I want a bow of my own. And arrows, so I can practice any time. When will we get to begin using real weapons?”

Naqenni breathed out stiffly, but didn’t argue. Of course actions were better than words, but that didn’t make words meaningless. Still, she turned her focus to more useful applications: the angle of her bow, the distance of her target, and the feeling of pulling back the draw weight in order to loose each shot. When on her own, she would need to work on just that—pulling back, and letting go; pulling back, and releasing. Already, she could feel the strain on her arms, unused to this specific exercise.

There was a definite thrill to it, though, or at least the thrill of potential. Something more than she’d ever felt in her blade practice. It seemed as though, with the capacity not only for range, and accuracy, but a driving force beyond that of what a body alone could produce, there was simply more to a bow than other weapons.

Not that she would say as much to her cousins who seemed taken with their steel.

And not that the bow was currently cooperating with her.

As another shot missed, Naqenni rolled her shoulders and started after the arrows to go fetch what she’d shot. Upon returning with the ones she could find, she took up stance again, implementing what she remembered of Zandala’s instructions. She lost track of how many, exactly, she loosed before finally, with a quiet thhwwp that sounded worlds more weighty to her own ear, an arrow lodged itself in the target.

Her pulse sped, eyes briefly blinking as though not quite believing it. Then, a wildly satisfied flush warmed her face. She curbed the desire to grin, though. It only counted if she could repeat it.

Naqenni blinked, then immediately frowned as Zandala’s instruction sank in. She had just hit it. She didn’t want to stop now. Seconds from objecting, however, her mouth already open, she hesitated, stalling on the follow up. Her arms were already smarting from the exercise, and as new to the practice as she was, it did seem — however frustrating the thought — that the likelihood of her hitting again quickly was low. Still, the want to continue—to improve, to push her own limits—nagged at her, making her skin itch with contained frustration.

Finally, she managed a stiff, begrudging huff and nod, toes crimping with her impatience. But she set the bow aside, rolling her shoulders and following the older alkidike, though her mind remained on the bow—how soon she might get to practice again, how she could work her muscles until then, and musings on how long it would take before she could reliably hit.

“It’s better than other weapons,” she said frankly, when asked. “It’s faster, goes farther, and has all the power of the bow itself added to your own strength to make the arrow go, as opposed to just the strength in your arms or your legs and stomach when fighting close with a sword. You can do more with it, and eliminate your enemies before they even know you’re there. I’m going to get better with it…”

She rubbed at her arm, kneading the muscles there passively in thought for a moment before eyeing the other woman. Naqenni was never short on questions, but what specifically to ask a woman clearly bent on specializing in a bow herself?

“When you were first learning, what sorts of exercises did you do, to build up your arm strength? Have you ever shot at a moving target? Have you gone hunting with yours yet? What can I do to practice when I can’t have the bow itself on my own yet?”

Naqenni blinked.

Disadvantages to the bow. Settling to a sit, she burrowed one toe at the earth in thought, briefly, before opening her mouth again. “It’s not nearly so effective up close. If you’re ambushed, or caught off guard, or if you missed and your enemy or a beast gets near to you, having just a bow could get you killed. There are also only so many arrows you can put in a quiver,” she added. “And if you run out, your bow is nearly useless, other than to hit someone with it, but it’s only a bit of wood…” She considered another moment, trying to think of more. “It takes time to draw another shot, and things like the wind can affect your accuracy, where that woudn’t happen with a blade…bows also break more easily, or your string could snap at a terrible time. Having just one plan is always a bad plan.”

Naqenni made mental note of the rest. One of her caretaker mothers had a bow, and surely she could at least practice drawing it to build up her strength. She tipped her head after the thought, glancing again to Zandala. “I could come find you again, to practice. Later. When are you not busy?”