Faolan, retired corporal of mice, handed his daughter Freya a bow. They reviewed basic archery briefly. Faolan helped his daughter with three different bows and one crossbow. After a few practice shots with each, she settled on the crossbow. She generally preferred a crossbow because of her size and the crossbow’s speed, and he tended to offer those to her more often as a rule.

Thanks to years of spending a day or two at the shop, Faolan knew that Freya thought that she was an excellent shot. Today, however, she kept pulling to either side.

Faolan opened the shop as Freya kept testing out arrows. He watched as she lined up a perfect grouping of five bolts, about halfway to the side of the target. Then another.

Half an hour later and it was clear that Freya was off her game. Her shots were accurate if you wanted to fire a warning shot, but probably not better for much more.

Faolan watched as his daughter Freya got more and more aggravated, waiting for her to come and talk about what was on her mind. Something had happened and it was none of his business, but he did want to be available.

“Freya, I don’t have any customers,” he said, ducking his head inside the range door. “I could use some company while we wait for your mother to finish for the day.”

He saw her huff as she put the crossbow back on the stand. This crossbow was nearly a masterpiece and it had been lent to him by an aviary officer, one of the few who brought his own feathers to be put into arrows. Faolan appreciated a bird who could make use of what was available.

He laid out a line of feathers and shafts to put them all together. It was mindless rote work and without a word, Freya sat down and began working through building arrows and bolts. It made him swell with pride that she could easily take over the shop for him if she ever decided to become a fletcher.

Freya concentrated on her work and as she completed the arrows, Faolan checked them over one by one, hefting them into the air to see that they were properly weighted.

Before long Freya held out an outstretched hand motioning for him to bring more.

“Shafts or feathers?”

“Both. Feathers first though.”

Faolan walked to the front of the shop and grabbed a large box from under the display. He opened the top, verified that it was feathers, then moved it to where Freya sat. Next to her were about forty completed bolts that Faolan took to replace the feathers he dumped unceremoniously on the short wooden table Freya had been working on.

Freya cracked a smile for a second then organized the feathers into a pile by length and color.

He ran the full box of bolts back under the display case and grabbed another full box, this one full of completed arrow shafts. He always left some undone for the times when he needed something to do to keep his mind off things.

“I know that it’s not my business to pry, Freya,” he said, placing the box gently on Freya's other side, “but if there is something on your mind. I’m always here to talk.”

“I know, I know. Thanks, I’m just processing something right now,” she said, pulling the box a bit closer. “Oh, this is all arrows! Good, I had a feeling that I was doing a lot of bolts.”

Faolan felt the tension ease a little in the room.

“Father, did you ever have any arguments with the other Soldiers when you were… you know, back then?”

Faolan kept his face neutral as his heart did bellyflops. She almost never volunteered information. Hem always told him whatever was on his mind, but his daughter was usually a bit more closed off. Except about chickens, as one does.

“We had arguments all the time, guys would skip out on work or eat too much or drink too much…” he said, grabbing a bow of arrowheads and arrow shafts.

She watched as he placed that box down and then sat down opposite her.

“But the reason I stayed in so long, and then fought them when they made me leave was… in the end they had my back and I had theirs. The coalition as a whole could go stuff it. I liked my guys.”

He started putting arrowheads together with shafts and passing them to Freya, getting lost in the work.

Father and daughter worked in silence for a while.

Faolan did not know how long he’d been in a flow state but eventually, they ran out and he had to admit that all the busy work was done for the week. In less than a morning, Freya had worked through everything and he was concerned that if he had her begin to clean he would have nothing to do at all. Idly he thought that today would be a perfect day to close up the shop early and read a book on the green.

“You really got to all my backed up work today huh? Well I don’t know what happened to you, but it was a blessing for your productivity,” Faolan said.

Freya sighed, looking away.

“I thought it would be easier when I became an adult.”

“Why whatever gave you that idea?”

“I mean they tell you in school that you can do anything and that people will respect you when you grow up but well I think I really hurt someone that I care about and…”

The tears welled up in Freya's face as she tried hard not to cry.

“I’m certain that whatever it is, you can make it right,”Faolan said.

“But what if I can’t and I’m just a big phony and I end up having no friends and nobody will marry me and… and I die childless and…”

And the tears were flowing now.

“Freya, we’ve all had these doubts. Heck, when I got shot, I thought my life was over, but I found a purpose here and I do something good for the coalition,” Faolan’s eyes welled up, “You’ll always have a home here no matter what. If something is bothering me, I’m always here to lend an ear.”

“But-”

“No buts. I want you to understand that your home is with us for as long as you need it and… you can always come back.”

Freya smiled, wiping her eyes with her kerchief.