The first arrow flew wide, two feet above the stump that was my target. The second arrow went left. It’d been a couple of months since I went hunting last, and my form was rusty. I had to find the feeling of the “right shot” again.

I drew the bowstring back to the tip of my nose. It was a struggle until I felt the bones in my arms and back lock into place and take the load of the muscles. My guess was that Princess Lily drew 30 pounds. In other words, it took 30 pounds of force to draw the bowstring back.

I released, and the arrow thunked into the stump. I grinned--the familiar motion was still familiar, even in a new body.

The next time, I remembered to exhale as I drew the bow. There was a stillness at full draw--when everything was empty--and then the arrow released to another satisfying thump. I drew and shot again. Another thump followed.

So: three hits, two misses.

The bow was better than expected. The arrows were shazbot though. I hit the stump, sure, but it was a big target. Not quite at the level of a side of a barn, but big enough to be embarrassing.

The fletching was fine, it was the shafts that were the problem. They weren’t as true as they needed to be. Although… the orange-fletched arrows weren’t terrible. The orange vanes somehow made up for the poor quality of the shafts.

Recovering the arrows, I was surprised at the penetration. It took real effort to pull them out of the stump. Even better, the flint arrowheads weren’t damaged. I didn’t have to replace any of them.

I practiced for half an hour before stopping. My back was already sore from the exercise earlier, and the bow was starting to shake at full draw. I felt satisfied though. The Princess shot beautifully. There’d be some chance involved because of the poor quality of the arrows, but the two of us should be able to hunt. Oh yes, we would.

###

Dark clouds blew in overnight, and rain poured down on the glen, the drops so big they bounced on the stone. The curtain of water in front of the cave flashed with every stroke of lightning.

It was hard to move after yesterday’s exercise--my whole body ached--but I forced myself up and outside to stand in the downpour. I grinned wide as thunder rolled across the valley. The air felt charged, like it was ready to ignite and catch fire.

I looked around for the otter to see if she was enjoying the thunderstorm as much as I was, but she was still away. She should be back soon though. Today was the third of the three days she said we had to wait.

I went back inside the cave for my morning routine. This time, I extended the stretching and limbering, skimped on the resistance training, and focused on the yoga and qigong to help with the muscle pain.

For meditation, I sat outside to let the elements pour over me, and it was glorious. I couldn’t stop grinning, as my heart roared with the thunder and my blood rushed with the rain. I saw the veins and arteries inside my eyelids every time lightning flashed. It felt like it was illuminating the inside of my head.

The qi was so alive, it moved on its own inside my body. Swelled by the energy around me, the meridians stretched to contain it. I laughed like Dr. Frankenstein, as the electricity coursed through his monster’s body.

I’ve always loved thunderstorms. The one time I was strapped as a kid was when my father caught me on the roof during a thunderstorm. I’d never seen him so furious. He was practically red in the face, and he used his belt like he meant it. It was only when my mother pulled me away, hyperventilating, that he stopped. She was mad too. But she waited till the tears stopped before turning the emotional screws.

So yeah, I didn’t do that again--at least not when my parents were home--but I tried to be away and in the woods whenever a thunderstorm was forecasted. I saw some crazy stuff that way too--trees split in two, lightning flashing up toward the sky, that kind of thing. I loved every minute.

###

By mid-morning, the rain gentled, and the clouds parted to let a curtain of light through. There was still no sign of the otter, and I had a ton of energy flowing through me. I felt like I could run for miles.

I threw my armor on, grabbed my spear, and went into the forest to look for deer sign. The plan was to figure out where they ate, drank, and bedded, so that I could come back later with my bow and lay in wait.

I started by heading towards where I found the pile of deer pellets two days ago. The ground was muddy, and my boots slipped more than once. I had to catch myself with my spear, using it more like a walking stick than a weapon.

The birds were quiet during the storm, but they were awake now, their birdsong just as energetic as I was. Big fat drops of water of accumulated rain fell from the leaves and branches above, adding a subtle percussion to the music. I listened as I climbed the hillside.

This part of the forest was just as I remembered--thick with tempting things for deer to eat, including the patch of broad beans I’d found. I was a fool to think the deer pellets would still be there though. The rain had washed everything away--the pellets, as well as any tracks. But there was enough food supply in the area to make me think it was part of the deer’s regular route, so I spiraled outward looking for evidence of them passing through.

After half an hour, I came upon a thicket in the trough between two hills. It was quite the jumble of trees and made for good cover from the rain, while the hills protected it from the wind. All in all, it was a perfect shelter for a deer.

I waited and watched but couldn’t sit still for long, so I crept around the shelter’s border. Thirty yards away, just out of sight, a game trail followed the crease between the two hills, leading down. I paced beside it, not wanting to get my scent anywhere near the deers’ route. Along the way, I spotted the scars from old rubs, places where bucks wore away tree bark with their antlers.

I continued along the game trail and heard the sound of a running water ahead. Peeking over a small rise, I saw the game trail end in a gentle slope down to a stream. Upstream, a familiar cliff stood in the distance. That would be Ikfael Glen.

The water level was higher than usual thanks to the rain, and I couldn’t make out any prints along the banks. I was just about to give up and head back to the thicket when I felt a tug on my attention. It was the Forest Survival Skill. Downstream, there was another waterfall forty, maybe fifty yards away. I went to check it out.

Calling it a waterfall was generous. The water dropped only ten feet from a limestone shelf into the water below, a pond forty feet across. To the east, along the pond’s far edge, a beaver dam kept the water in check. The beaver’s lodge rose like a primitive pyramid at the northern edge of the dam, its walls built of stone, wood, and mud.

The walls were strong enough to keep a bear out. Would they survive a monster turkey’s heat beam? I wasn’t sure. Maybe the beavers had their own tricks.

They were nocturnal animals, and I didn’t see any while perched atop the waterfall. There was evidence of their handiwork though--fallen trees and water channels extending into the woods.

The pond rippled here and there, and I saw trout in the water. All I needed was a pole, and this would be a perfect fishing spot. Huh… maybe I could whittle a set of hooks from wood? Something to think about.

The qi was finally starting to settle, and so I sat at the edge of the pond and watched as a swarm of dragonflies zipped atop the water. None of them were monster-sized, so it was a peaceful sight. I kept an eye on the tree line though, just in case.

Nothing bothered me, except after a while, for my stomach. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. So I got up, washed the mud off, and headed back to the glen. My heart swelled when I saw the otter was back. But that changed to guilt when I saw that her fur was matted and there was a slight hitch when she moved. She looked… travel worn.

She called me over with a wave of her paw and had me sit beside the pool. I offered to fish up some lunch, but she declined with a shake of her head. The otter covered her mouth and made a gesture of the sun setting. She then pointed at me and asked if I’d eaten.

I shook my head. Nothing since last night.

She smiled in approval, patted me on the knee, and gestured that I shouldn’t, also till end of day. So, we were fasting then.

“Are you all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”

The otter must’ve heard the concern in my voice. She shook her head and gestured. Just rest till tonight. Save your strength. We’re going on a journey.