“Oh yeah? Well, they’re still bigger than yours, short-horns! Why don’t you go fondle a goat and cry about it?”

Ianeth spluttered a reply, but she was already out of earshot before he managed to get it out.

“Ava.”

Her father managed to make her name sound as threatening as a curse.

“Sorry, father. But he started it!”

Ianeth had insulted her horns. Specifically, the way they looked, since he couldn’t make fun of their size, what with Ava’s horns being longer than his own. If only by a little bit.

So, naturally, she made fun of his horns’ length. And insinuated he liked to get intimate with goats. It was a normal exchange of insults, in Satyr society, but her father wanted none of that.

He said as much, while she walked with him to their destination.

“You are no longer a child. You are on the verge of being a woman. You will not trade petty insults.”

It wasn’t petty.

Truthfully, goats weren’t despised or disliked by Satyrs, even though the resemblance was clear. But the idea of someone mating with one? Even suggesting it was cause for a fight. Which is why she thought her insult was pretty good.

“So what am I supposed to do, if he insults me? What if he insults you next?” she asked.

“You will challenge him to a fight, if the insult is great. Leave him be, if not.” He said, before turning to her and giving her one of his faint, rare smiles. “And he will not insult me. He is not that great of a fool.”

She sniffed at that.

“Seems like a pretty big fool to me. Why did the village take him in, anyway? It’s not like he’s that good at hunting.”

Her father hesitated before responding.

“You will not repeat what I now say and you will not use it as an insult. Ianeth comes from outside the village, this you know. What you do not know is that he was not raised by Satyrs. He knows little of our ways, yet he came to learn, nonetheless. The village will teach him, until he is one of us.”

“…but who raised him? I’ve never heard of that before. So… he’s not really a Satyr?” she asked, with interest.

“He is as much Satyr as you and I. And you will not insult him. Am I clear?” he said, eyes flashing.

“Yes father.”

“Good. And as for not being good at hunting. He already has the |Hunter| Class. Do you have any words on this?”

She didn’t reply, simply scowling instead.

This was the real reason why her father walked with her. Time and time again. Why he came with her to the forest to help her hunt. It was because she didn’t have the |Hunter| Class. She was an |Archer| instead. She heard other Satyrs had that class, but they all had it changed to |Hunter|, in time. All but her.

This is so stupid. I like my Class. Why do I have to change it?

Yet this was how their village functioned. How Satyr mentality worked. A |Hunter| or hunter provided food for the village. Pelts. Materials. If you gained a Class, it was cause for celebration, but having a Class good at taking down prey and not becoming a |Hunter|? That was folly. They were not humans, to use bows and arrows for delight and competition. Nor were they in war. So why be an |Archer|, when you could be a |Hunter|?

Because I like being an |Archer|.

Yet her father would hear none of it. She knew. She tried.

So she followed him into the forest again.

***

“Foolish. Your Class does not change, because you do not want it to!” her father said, raising his voice. His normally even temper had been eroded by constant failure on Ava’s part.

It had been months since her father first accompanied her in the forest. Months of hunting, of bringing so much food into the village, that the others started to guess what was going on.

“Ava, please, you have to want it. You have to try!” Her mother pleaded.

That bothered her more than her father’s approach. His anger or his constant pressure she could handle. She was a Satyr. Stubbornness came as easy as breathing. But pleading, the look in her mothers’ eyes. Shame.

“I tried. I do want it, mother.” She lied.

But I don’t. It’s why my Class doesn’t change. And I’ll make sure it won’t change.

She was even prouder of it now, than she was then. The constant hunting helped, even if not in the way her father intended. She levelled in her |Archer| Class and even got a new Skill: |Piercing Shot|.

“That is a lie.” Her father said, fury draining out of him. What was left, resembled what Ava saw in her mothers’ eyes.

“The festival is in two days. The entire village will be there. All will have stories, good and great, yet our story will be…”

In that moment, Ava hated the festival. As a child, she would get so excited, she wouldn’t sleep right for a week before it. On the night of the festival, all the village would gather, some Satyrs even joining from other villages. There would be food and music and laughter.

And stories.

It was almost the lifeblood of the Satyrs as a people. They loved telling stories and they were proudest when the stories were about them. Of what they had done and what they have achieved, in the past year. It could make you great in the eyes of others, make sure you would have first claim to food, to land. In some villages, even to consorts.

Would that I still was a child.

She had gotten her |Archer| Class last year. Naturally, the whole village heard the story. Now she was still an |Archer|. If her parents told an unrelated story this year, the people would know. If they did tell this story…

Her mother would lose trade. Her parents owned a goat farm, that her mother looked after. Not a big one, but enough to trade milk and cheese. When prey in the forest wasn’t bountiful, it was considered an asset to the village.

Her father would be shamed. He was a |Hunter|. Not a simple one, either. He was an |Relentless Hunter|, a specialized Class he received after years of chasing and downing his prey, across all manner of terrains, in all manners of weather, not once stopping in his hunt, except when forced. Yet who would take his prey now? Who would barter with him, when he failed to bring his daughter to a more respectable path?

I will not change my Class. …But I will not let my family go without a story, either.

She stepped outside to breathe. The village was splayed out in front of her. Wooden houses among leather tents. Some were even constructed out of stones or hollowed out of the mountain, on which they lived. Inclined terrain didn’t bother them, so Satyr villages tended to form without rhyme or reason.

Yet Ava looked at her sleeping village and hated it. Just a little. For the way its traditions where set in stone. Everything was a story…

A story! Of course!

There were many stories Satyr children were told. In her village, the foremost of them was the one of the first Satyr, that founded her village. A legendary spear wielder, he threw his spear at the moon and broke a sliver of it. When it fell back down to earth, he looked at it and saw what part of the moon he broke. It was the Crescent Moon that landed and he made it into a bow.

The best part about this story: it might be true. The Crescent Bow was said to still be kept by the village leader.

Now that is a story! I’m not the First, but if I can shoot that bow, I bet that’ll make for a good story.

It was said that when the First shot an arrow with that bow, he was rewarded with a wish. So, as Satyrs do, he told a story. A story of a village for his people, one free of monsters, where his kind could roam free and live without danger.

It might have been true, for monsters rarely attacked their village and never the truly dangerous kind. And the bow was real. Ava thought that even if the story wasn’t true, shooting an arrow from that bow would make for a good story in and of itself. Only a great Satyr could do that. And who should do it, if not an |Archer|?

Mind made up, she went back to her parents and tried to sleep. She’ll have a story ready for them.

Swear by my horns.

***

Getting the bow wasn’t hard. It wasn’t easy, but with everyone preparing for the festival and the village leader out and about in the village, no one was left to guard the bow.

Maybe nobody thought anyone would try it.

Not looking at a gift goat’s horns too closely, she made it out of the village, with the bundle of cloth in her arms. It was richly decorated and made out of a material Ava had never seen before, but it was not what she was after.

Her true prize laid within and as she unfolded it, she finally saw it.

It was a bow, unlike any other she had seen before. The material it was made out of shone like the moon. It felt like nothing she knew, neither wood, nor metal, nor bone. It wasn’t decorated, but the light that shone from within, brightened more in some places than in others, even as it shifted about its length.

The string for the bow wasn’t a normal string. Ava wasn’t even sure it was a string, for it looked like pure light, silver and radiant.

All right. So maybe there was some truth to the story.

Ava gingerly picked it up and noticed it was slightly warm.

If this gets me a wish, I’ll have the greatest story since the First.

“Greetings, young Satyr.”

Ava nearly dropped the bow, yet in her haste to nock an arrow, disbelief that she forgot to bring arrows and general surprise, she only managed to turn around and stare at the intruder.

And nearly fainted.

The creature looking at her resembled a Satyr in that he had furry legs, hooves and horns. Yet that is where the resemblance ended. It was taller than her father by more than a head and was incredibly muscular. Satyr had muscles, but they were built for speed. This Satyr looked like another breed entirely. His skin was dark silver and his hair and feet where light silver, almost white. He had horns, but they weren’t normal horns. His were curled. Ava saw some Satyrs that had curved horns, but his were curled.

And his eyes. No pupil. Just huge irises, almost taking up the entirety of the eye, which glowed in the night. Of the same color and intensity as the bow in her hands.

“I see you have found my bow. I congratulate you on this and am ready to hear your request.”

“…my- my request?” Ava asked, after managing to find her voice.

“Your request, young Satyr. Or have your people already forgotten the old tales? Should one shoot an arrow with that bow, that one will receive a wish, granted by me.”

“Y-you? Who are you?”

“I am a Faun, young one.” He smiled. “As for my name, it was lost to time long ago.”

“Alright.” She said. Her knees were quaking, yet she couldn’t show fear.

This is the being that granted the First his wish. Don’t freeze, don’t freeze.

“I then ask you, great Faun, to hear my story.” She said, trying to put more respect in her voice now, than he she did for her entire life.

“This is the story of a Satyr named Ava. She had a dream of being an archer. Not just an archer, but an |Archer|. She dreamed of pursuing that class, whether her village wanted that of her or not. She dreamed of her village accepting her for what she is, not for what they wanted her to be. She dreamed of her parents being proud of her and her story and for the entire village to be as well. Uh… “she said, faltering. “I guess that’s it.”

She placed her hand to the string and an arrow of pure light appeared in it. Ava didn’t know how she knew that would happen, but she somehow thought it would. Taking aim, she drew back and released. The arrow flew true.

Straight at the moon.

Behind her, she heard sudden laughter.

“I applaud you, young Ava. It is a worthy story. And you have shown cunning. Were you perhaps trying to do as the founder of your village did and by taking aim at the moon, also receive a piece of it?” he asked.

“Uh, well… maybe? I thought… yeah.” She said disappointedly.

“Alas, the bow is of the moon itself and as such, cannot hurt it. Yet the arrow appeared in your hand and the bow allowed you to fire it. That means you are allowed your wish.” He said, amusedly.

Before growing more somber.

“And yet, some stories cannot be repeated. It is in the nature of such workings. Tell your story, young Ava, but wish for another wish.”

“Why? I don’t want anything else.”

“Perhaps. Yet your first wish was wasted by taking aim at a target that, for you, was out of reach. And now, you must wish a different wish, if you are to wish at all.”

“Wish a… What do you mean wish a different wish? I didn’t know I couldn’t shoot at the moon? No one told me.”

“It is for a reason such things are not told. It is a measure of your true self, better than most. The founder of your village touched the moon himself, without the help of anyone or anything. For that, he was rewarded with this bow and the power to make his story come true, as he was the master of the bow, the first to shoot it.”

He looked at her, not smiling anymore.

“And yet, you did not touch the moon through your own powers. You sought to do it by the legacy of another. The bow accepts you and this is why I stand here to listen to your story. But it is time for you to stand on your own two hooves, young Ava.”

This isn’t fair. That was my only wish. I thought hard about it. What other story could I ask for?

In truth, she could have asked for many things. Power. Magic. Weapons. Even longer horns. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to be an |Archer|. She wanted her parents to be proud of her. She wanted her village to accept her.

Fine.

“I have another story.” She said.

At once, the look of peace and the faint smile returned to the Faun’s face.

“I am listening, young Ava.”

She took aim at her village and shot an arrow of light above it.

“This is the story of Ava. Who shot an arrow from the Crescent Bow above her village and everybody knew it was her who had done it. A true |Archer|. This is the story of Ava, second master of the Crescent Bow and the only current owner of it.” She said with conviction. “Happy?”

If being master of this bow doesn’t make for a good story, I don’t know what does.

The Faun looked at her sadly for a time, before responding.

“No, child. I am most unhappy. But as the bow accepted you and you had made your wish, I have granted it to you. The entire village knows you were the one who shot the arrow from the Crescent Bow. The entire village knows you are the sole owner of it. And soon, the entire village will know it was you who was the harbinger of their doom.”

Ava had been nodding, relieved at what she heard, until that last part.

“Wait. Doom? What doom?”

Sighing, the Faun responded.

“I grant wishes according to my powers, child. The founder of your village asked of me to create safety. Safety from monsters yes, but others as well. He asked for the coming village to be safe. I told him such protection must be tied to something. He offered me his life, but I refused, for he asked for safety in continuity, longer than the lifespan of a single Satyr. He then asked me for safety, for as long as the bow remained with his village.”

“So? The bow is just outside the village, I’ll take it back in!” Ava said, panic increasing in her chest.

“What is distance to me or the blessings I provide? No, young Ava. The safety I granted had lasted until the moment that bow was no longer for your village to claim. And it no longer is, for you have claimed it yourself. You are the owner of the bow, child. The only owner, as you have requested, no?”

“But- wait- I didn’t know that! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“It is as I said. The bow is also a test of your true self. You could always wish for it, always want it for yourself. If you knew of the consequences, it would not be a true test.”

“No! No, I don’t want it! Take it back, I DON’T WANT IT!”

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, child.” The Faun said sadly.

“Wh-“

She tried to ask for the meaning of his words, yet she found out soon enough. She’d have forced him to take the bow, somehow, yet the bow was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps sensing her confusion, he talked again.

“You are the owner of the bow. Yet when your first wish was denied, you asked for the bow itself. In your arrogance, you asked to be put on equal standing with its first master, though you are less than a shadow of who he was. For that, the bow does not accept you as its second master.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. This wasn’t just a failure. It was worse. The protection on her village was gone. The bow was gone. And because of her stupid story, everybody knew it was her who did it.

She started to cry.

Maybe she should just leave. Her parents would be shamed, but they wouldn’t get all the blame if they renounced her. Besides, her village didn’t kill their own, but she knew there had to be some great punishments for something like this.

A hand touched her horns.

"I am sorry, young Satyr. I did not think such a wish would have been made. But nor could I have warned you, if I knew. That is not the nature of stories.”

“Can’t you help?” *sniff* “Please?”

“No child. Your founders’ act of grace had first brought me here. I come before those who the bow accepts, for I bound my story to its own, yet I do not act of my own will.”

His way of talking was getting to her and she wanted to say as much. But there was desperation in her.

“Please?” she tried again.

The Faun looked conflicted for a second, before speaking.

“No. Yet I tell you this child. The bow rejects you, for you are not worthy of it. But in time, if your story will start to match the one of its first master, the bow will come to you again. Of that, I am sure of.” He smiled at her.

“Fine. Don’t know what kind of a story I can make for myself now, what with the entire village hating me.”

At that, the Faun looked at the village, before raising her up from the ground.

“I am sorry to say child, but your words carry more truth than you know. The protection on your village is gone. Yet there are monsters in this forest and monsters on that mountain. For them, it was as if the scent of a great feast had suddenly appeared on the wind. I fear you must flee.”

It was too much… She broke down right then and there. There was more than fear now, in her voice. Desperation mated with fury to bring into being a kind of madness.

“Why didn’t you tell me SOONER? I have to help them!”

Yet she couldn’t move. It was as if her body refused to listen to her words.

Or perhaps her words belittled the amount of fear inside her.

“Should you go there, you would die. This I see. And your death would save no one.”

“You’re one of us, aren’t you?” she tried. “You look like us! Please, help them! PLEASE!”

From the village, sounds of screaming were starting to be heard. From the forest, shadowed shapes could be seen moving.

“I am… just a story, child. And I do not intervene more than I must.”

She was struggling then. She realized the issue wasn’t that her body wasn’t reacting. It was, yet something was stilling her muscles, keeping her down. She found the culprit in a second.

“You! You’re doing this to me!” she snarled.

“I am. I see a future for you child. And that village, this night, would only bring you to your death.”

“My parents are there! My friends! I have to GO!”

He looked at her for one long second, before uttering a single word.

“No.”

He gestured and a light enveloped her, raising her in the air.

“NO! Let me go! LET ME GO!”

“I do not intervene… yet you are a wishmaker. I will deliver you to safety, far from this place. Far enough for you not to risk being caught by the coming slaughter.

“Noooo! Please, I have to help them, please! Help them! Help us! Help-“

She was sobbing so hard that she wasn’t sure she was still making sense. Her vision was blurred by tears. But she could still hear. And the sounds were haunting.

Her village screamed in the night. She could hear sounds, like animals gnashing and roaring and the voice of her people screaming, sometimes in fury, sometimes in fear. Sometimes, she thought she could hear voices she recognized.

“We will not meet again, I think. I am sorry, child. The wish was your own and yet I wish you didn’t-“

A scream interrupted the Faun, a scream belonging to a voice Ava knew, from far away.

“MOTHER! NOOO! FATHER, HELP! MOOOOTHER! FATHER, HELP HER, PLEASE! MOTHER!!!

He looked at her then. She was trashing so wildly that she was beginning to escape his power.

So quiet she couldn’t have heard him, he said a single word.

“Goodbye.”

In a flash of silver light, Ava was gone. When she woke up, she was far away from her village. Next to her was a bow, arrows and a plump pouch, spilling with what looked to be potions. The Faun’s final act of kindness. She was far away enough, that by the time she returned, she found only death. Death and hatred, from the people she called kindred.

***

She ran for days and for weeks, until she wasn’t sure for how long, but she ran. Until her own had found her. Until a single thrust had downed her.

Until she heard single word.

“Drink!”