It wasn't long before I had awoke.

The barely under an hour I was sitting within the void with my sleeping self meant that I had probably been out about three hours in the real world, if my calculations held correct.

I looked up just in time to see Yu flying through the air, her trajectory a perfect landing on my bed. She was a big fan of running jumps, and thankfully I had recovered to the point where they no longer hurt.

"You looked awful yesterday Aral! You were covered in blood, and you STINKED!" She held her nose, miming smelling something awful.

Orwell was sat in his chair, reading another one of his books.

"How was the trip?" He still sat reading, not looking up at me.

"It was... Bloody." I'd prefer not to tell him the numerous slip ups I made during the trip, but who was I kidding, he probably knew all about it. Besides, Yu was here, and I'd rather not go into how graphic the entire thing was.

"So? Have you thought about it?" He finally closed the book, turning to meet my gaze.

"Thought about..?"

"The reason you want to be strong. Your reason." Oh yeah, he had told me to go on the hunt with the condition that it would allow me to travel out of my comfort zone, and by god was that an /underestimation/. My comfort zone decidedly does not feature being attacked by a fifteen foot tall murder ostrich.

He was right though, the trip itself was eye opening. I got to see Rammel's Fervour up close, and the proficiency of his hunting squad. Jonglir included. I have to admit, even if my life was this close to being taken from me, it was fun. Really fun. How cool would it be if I could meet that Gir on fair ground. If I could fight it on equal standing.

"Yeah... I have."

"And your answer?"

"... Because it's fun."

"Fun?"

"Yeah."

"Explain."

"Hunting. Being hunted. Surviving against that Gir, a maggot compared to some of the existences in this world, a struggle with my life as the wager. It was fucking fun. Exhilirating even. I've never felt anything like it. All of my problems were secondary. I was living. You were right about surviving not being one of my priorities, but with all of my heart, I want to live. I want to be strong. I want to see how far I can go. I want to clash blades and swing swords. I want to have fun."

"..."

"Attaboy."

"Eh?"

"You told the truth. That's all I asked. And don't think your motivation is less important than others. Honour, glory, fear, protection, excitement. None of these are grander or lesser than the rest. It matters not why we progress, only that we do progress. I picked up my first knife because if I didn't, the kid that was stalking towards me would have. I chose to place my life above his. Regret? Shame? Pei! You won't catch me feeling anything of the sort. I won and he lost. Such is life. Remember, the only person in this life you have to answer to, is yourself. Never place your motivations below or above others."

"So... You'll teach me?"

"You really are as thick as an oak, aren't you? I'll teach you, and if you die to a Gir, don't think you'll find me mourning. You chose this path, and I'll assume you died following your passion. We can't ask for much more than that in this world now can we."

"Orwell... Thanks." I couldn't stop myself. I closed the gap between us and hugged him tight. Partly because I was really thankful, and partly because I didn't want him to see me crying.

"Don't rejoice yet. You thought hunting was hard? I'm going to make you look fondly upon the days you were injured and bedridden. You'll hope with all your heart that you could go back to such easy times. So suit up, Aral."

On second thought, perhaps I made a mistake.

******

"Wrong."

I've lost count of how many times I've heard that word this past week. I thought Orwell was serious when it came to my training, but I've come to realise it was just a diversion, his real motivations were venting his frustrations with me.

Almost immediately after accepting, he pulled a wooden cane from who-knows-where, and began my so-called "training". At first I thought it would be running, or maybe even spars, but currently he was just whipping me at every stage of the day. For every little thing.

I stand up? "Wrong", followed by a whip to my legs.

I walk? "Wrong" whip.

Reach for food? Whip.

Whip? Whip.

"Orwell, I really don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing. Are you saying it's wrong to eat or that the way I'm eating is wrong? Can you at least explain that?"

"You not understanding is purposeful. The body works better when the brain is not involved. Tell me, when you walk, do you think about putting one foot in front of the other? No. You simply walk. There is no higher thought necessary. Your body uses each muscle to the best of its efficiency, and you walk. When you breathe, do you manually work your diaphragm in and out? No. You simply breathe, and your body makes miniscule adjustments based on the amount of air you currently need. Our brain is a wonderful thing, yes, but it is better used for thinking. Only when the body acts by itself can we reach peak efficiency."

"..."

"I can tell by the gormless look on your face that you don't understand. Watch."

Orwell made sure I was looking, and then walked from one side of the cabin to the other, repeating the process twice before turning to me, an expectant look on his face.

"See?"

"Uh... Yes... You are good at... Walking?"

"You really are empty-brained aren't you." Ouch, that one stung a little. "Forget it, I may as well be teaching a Circisqua to dance." Yes, I too understood that reference. Totally. "Just drown me out of your consciousness. Pretend I am not there, and when I correct you, simply allow your body to react how it will react."

I did as Orwell said, trying my utmost to tune out his silent judging from my perception. It didn't last long. Just as I was forgetting about his presence, a whip would come from out of nowhere to interrupt my concentration.

"Did Jonglir go through this? Is that how he could catch the sword out of mid air, and walk through the forest without stepping on anything?"

"Jonglir did not, because I did not teach Jonglir." Why do people seem to speak to me as if I am mentally deficient?

"Jonglir has a decent amount of training, but that is not where his proficiency comes from. Not only is he a born talent for hunting, but he has been infatuated by his father since young. The boy has done something amazing, without even realising he has done it. His infatuation has lead to him subconsciously imitating his father, from attitude, to more importantly, stance, breathing, and posture. A child is much more malleable than an adult, and Jonglir has been unconsciously training his body through sheer imitation of his father. Something that took Rammel decades to learn consciously, has been learned in less than half that time by a boy, subconsciously." Orwell seemed amazed with the extent of Jonglir's accomplishments, staring off into nothingness, smiling as if Jonglir's accomplishments were his own.

"Do you understand the power of the subconscious now? When we learn consciously, we are prone to distraction and are limited by our memory, but when you learn subconsciously, you could practice every minute of the day without even realising it, with the fruits of your labour being committed straight to muscle memory." Orwell whipped me quickly, targeting both biceps, my quadriceps, core, neck, calves, and finally my lower and upper back.

"That is what I want you to do, but do not think about doing it, simply do it."

Orwell stared me down as if what he expected from me made perfect sense. As if I was a fool for not immediately understanding.

Do it, but do not think about doing it. Simple.

I'll try walking. I've been doing that for the vast majority of my life, so surely I'll be a veteran when it comes to that. I set off across the cabin, in the same manner Orwell had.

I didn't make it three steps before Orwell had whipped me, hitting me in my legs as well as lower back.

"Wrong." Orwell sighed.

"Listen, Orwell." I was getting irate now, almost certain that he was using this training as an excuse to beat me black and blue. "I don't mean to brag, but I've been walking for a long time, and very, very rarely have I fallen or tripped over my own feet. How on earth can I walk wrong?"

"I thought the same thing, kid. Even Yu walks with more grace than you, and I've never seen her walk in years. It's as if you were brought up in a place that has no respect for Martial traditions. It's like you were born in a place where they cared not for efficiency of movement!" Orwell practically shouted the last bit, seeming truly dumbfounded.

Uh, well perhaps that is because I did in fact grow up in a place like that. Martial tradition? I've never even heard of that until just this second. Humans aren't taught to 'walk properly' they just learn to walk and that's that!

"Aral, Welly is right you know." Yu wiggled her finger at me, her eyebrows creased, mimicking a teacher giving a stern lesson. Wait, who's Well-Oh. Hahaha. Welly is Orwell.

"Do explain, teacher Yu." She glowed at the words.

"You walk dumb. You put too much effort into it! No wonder you couldn't walk very far with me in the village, you're putting so much effort into each step it's as if you're climbing a mountain! Relax, and just walk, Aral." She looked over to Orwell, asking implicitly whether her lesson was up to his standards, which I guess he agreed with, as both of them turned to me, still with the expectant look.

"I must be stupid, because none of what you are saying is making any sense. When I want to walk, I simply walk. I don't control how much effort I put into it."

"We know, Aral, and that's the problem. For some reason you've learned to walk wrong, so now we must undo that. Yu, I'm afraid we must activate protocol One-Alpha." Orwell turned back to Yu, a regretful look on his face.

"Okay..." Yu turned to look at me, tears welling up in her eyes. Oh god, what is protocol One-Alpha? "Aral... No more fuddies until you learn to walk right. I'm sorry that it has come to this." She looked high into the sky, wiping a tear from her eye.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO-" I dropped to the floor on both knees. How could you, Yu. I trusted you. How cruel can one family be?!

"Now now, Aral. Just think, the quicker you learn this, the quicker you can have fuddies again." Yu comforted me, patting my shoulder. "Go and have a walk around the village, to clear your head. I, your esteemed teacher Yu, shall ta-... Shall confer, with your other, slightly less esteemed teacher, Mr. Welly."

I could only manage a grunt of acceptance, my lifeless body carrying itself out of the cabin door.

I might be addicted to fuddies.

Okay scratch everything else, priority one is learning how to walk. Christ, what has life come to? I shall re-learn how to walk so that I may consume copious amounts of a not too hard, not too soft, pastry delicacy. It sounds unhinged, but I don't think I've ever been more dedicated to achieving a goal than I am right now.

I walked laps around the inside of the surprisingly large village. It didn't look like much from the safety of Orwell's cabin, but to do a lap of the perimeter easily took me thirty minutes.

Each step was took with unrivalled concentration, willing my entire focus into how, and where, I was going to step next.

Do not think about walking. Simply walk. Do not think about walking. Simply walk. Not too hard. Not too soft. Not too hard. Not too soft. Just like a fuddie. Walk like a fuddie. Fuddie. I wonder if Orwell and Yu have spoken to granny Momo about my fuddie ban? Perhaps she could be my secret fuddie dealer. I'll ask her after thi-

I slapped my cheeks, waking myself out of my daydream. What on earth am I thinking about? Am I really jonesing for fuddies? What are they doing, lacing them with cocaine?

"What are you doing?" A boy's voice interrupted my insane mental rambling.

I turned around, startled, and was greeted by a boy I had definitely not seen in Angelsrun before. He stuck out like a sore thumb, looking way too overdressed to be pottering around a rural village. From his words I assumed him to be rude, but his smile seemed innocent enough.

"I'm learning to walk. What about you?" Still, I had never seen this kid before, so best to be cautious.

"Learning to walk? You seem to be walking perfectly fine to me, haha." The boy chuckled.

"I know right! How do you even walk properly?" Finally, someone else who understands! "Anyway, I've really got to get this down, regardless of my feelings towards it." I leaned in close, whispering to the boy, looking around anxiously to make sure we weren't being overheard. "They're denying me my essentials until I learn to do it."

"How awful! That's downright ghastly!" The boy paled at my statement.

I'm glad somebody is sympathising with my plight.

"Well anyway, it was good to chat to you, but I've really got to get on with it. Good day." I bid the boy a good day, setting off to once more complete laps around the village. I don't even know how many times I've done it now, and for all I know, I could be no closer at all to being able to learn it correctly.

"Do you mind if I join you?" The boy skipped forward to join my stroll. "The person I came to this village with is busy at the minute, I've got time to spare. That's if you're okay with it, of course."

"I guess that's okay, but don't talk too much, I'm trying to concentrate." I fell into my rhythm once more, ignoring the boy.

Left foot right foot left foot right foot left foot right foot left foot right foot.

"Wrong." Orwell's shout startled me, causing me to jump from my trance. "Listen Aralmann, I appreciate your dedication to learning, but you're still doing it completely wrong. You're putting too much effort into it. You could practice till you die and not get anywhere at this rate." Orwell was either disappointed or tired. Or both. Probably both.

"Once more, look, and this time, actually watch what I do." Orwell repeated his exercise from inside the cabin, walking about ten paces across the grass, before turning around and walking back toward me.

"See?"

Yeah... He's definitely having me on.