kawa~ inspiration #3
Oct. 27th, 2004 01:22 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Miracles
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Both charries are mine~
Notes~ kawa~ inspiration, #3. Garuk's one of the older guys in the Own, and he's an archer. Thrais~ as a reminder, are the deadliest snake in Raykin. One bite kills a guy in no more than ten minutes. Far as anyone knows, there's no antidote, since nobody's lived long enough to try any of them out.
~ ~ ~
Nol took careful aim at the target down the other end of the archery range, letting an arrow loose at it. He rested the weight of his arm on his bow, frowning critically at the arrow, but the frown had little if anything to do with his shot.
“I’d say a toss between ‘may, getting into the Own before other guys even finish army training, or surviving Kazin…” he counted on his fingers, “three times. No, four—I went there when I was seven.”
Garuk shook his head and let one of his own arrows loose. “I don’t think you’re quite getting it, Nol. Miracles only happen once, otherwise they wouldn’t be miracles. If you’d only once been to Kazin, then it’d be a miracle.” He shrugged. “You’ve hardly been there as many times as the rest of us, but it’s not a miracle that you get out alive anymore.”
The prince blinked at his fellow archer. “Right…” he said slowly. The concept was a little too deep for him. “So that narrows it down to ‘may and getting in the Own.”
“Ah, but I also know Nimay, so that doesn’t work either.”
Nolryn slanted a glance at the archer as he knocked another arrow into his bow. “Okay, spit it out. What was so miraculous in your life that it bests being accepted into the Own at eighteen?” He drew the string back taught, sighting along it to the thumbprint-sized Middle Red. He could see Garuk’s smirk from the corner of his eye.
“Survived a thrai bite.”
Te prince’s eyes snapped wide open as his arrow broke free, hitting home on a target two to the right of the one he’d aimed for. “You what?”
Garuk broke into a fit of laughter. “You’re far too gullible for your own good, Nol.”
The younger archer’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew sour. “Finished?” he asked when it appeared Garuk had calmed down.
“For the time being, yes.” He snorted as he took aim again. “That look is just priceless on you.”
Nol grinned sardonically, flinging two more arrows at the target. “Anyway,” he announced, “Back on topic…”
The older archer shook his head, still grinning. “No Nol, I can’t best becoming a member of the Own at eighteen, but I do believe I’ve won the competition.”
Nol glanced down to the pair of targets. Both Middle Reds bristled with arrows. Only one single arrow stood from a separate target altogether.
“Your turn to fetch them,” Garuk told him.
Scowling, Nolryn made his way to the targets to retrieve the arrows. “You know,” he threw over his shoulder, “When one of the Own must resort to cheating in order to win a competition, you know his brain must be slowing.”
He could hear the archer’s snort from the other end of the range. “Says the boy who didn’t even manage to hit the target.”
The prince displayed the back of one hand to his fellow archer, then began the task of yanking the twenty-odd arrows embedded deeply in the targets.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Both charries are mine~
Notes~ kawa~ inspiration, #3. Garuk's one of the older guys in the Own, and he's an archer. Thrais~ as a reminder, are the deadliest snake in Raykin. One bite kills a guy in no more than ten minutes. Far as anyone knows, there's no antidote, since nobody's lived long enough to try any of them out.
Nol took careful aim at the target down the other end of the archery range, letting an arrow loose at it. He rested the weight of his arm on his bow, frowning critically at the arrow, but the frown had little if anything to do with his shot.
“I’d say a toss between ‘may, getting into the Own before other guys even finish army training, or surviving Kazin…” he counted on his fingers, “three times. No, four—I went there when I was seven.”
Garuk shook his head and let one of his own arrows loose. “I don’t think you’re quite getting it, Nol. Miracles only happen once, otherwise they wouldn’t be miracles. If you’d only once been to Kazin, then it’d be a miracle.” He shrugged. “You’ve hardly been there as many times as the rest of us, but it’s not a miracle that you get out alive anymore.”
The prince blinked at his fellow archer. “Right…” he said slowly. The concept was a little too deep for him. “So that narrows it down to ‘may and getting in the Own.”
“Ah, but I also know Nimay, so that doesn’t work either.”
Nolryn slanted a glance at the archer as he knocked another arrow into his bow. “Okay, spit it out. What was so miraculous in your life that it bests being accepted into the Own at eighteen?” He drew the string back taught, sighting along it to the thumbprint-sized Middle Red. He could see Garuk’s smirk from the corner of his eye.
“Survived a thrai bite.”
Te prince’s eyes snapped wide open as his arrow broke free, hitting home on a target two to the right of the one he’d aimed for. “You what?”
Garuk broke into a fit of laughter. “You’re far too gullible for your own good, Nol.”
The younger archer’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew sour. “Finished?” he asked when it appeared Garuk had calmed down.
“For the time being, yes.” He snorted as he took aim again. “That look is just priceless on you.”
Nol grinned sardonically, flinging two more arrows at the target. “Anyway,” he announced, “Back on topic…”
The older archer shook his head, still grinning. “No Nol, I can’t best becoming a member of the Own at eighteen, but I do believe I’ve won the competition.”
Nol glanced down to the pair of targets. Both Middle Reds bristled with arrows. Only one single arrow stood from a separate target altogether.
“Your turn to fetch them,” Garuk told him.
Scowling, Nolryn made his way to the targets to retrieve the arrows. “You know,” he threw over his shoulder, “When one of the Own must resort to cheating in order to win a competition, you know his brain must be slowing.”
He could hear the archer’s snort from the other end of the range. “Says the boy who didn’t even manage to hit the target.”
The prince displayed the back of one hand to his fellow archer, then began the task of yanking the twenty-odd arrows embedded deeply in the targets.