Longshot was practicing his skills in an empty clearing he had discovered. He pulled the drawstring to his chin, and let the arrow fly. It sliced through the air and penetrated an old birch tree dead on, from his place at fifty feet away. The corners of his lips just barely twitched upward in an invisible smirk; archery had always been his pride. Feeling the power of the bow as you release the cord, watching the projectile cut the empty space between him and the target like butter. It was the one thing he could always count on to be right. He reached into his pack behind him for another arrow. A rustling behind him alerted him that Jet had been watching. He turned to face his observer, whose face was twisted in bewilderment.
"Dang, Longshot! How'd you get so good at that?"
He went back in time.
He was six or seven, watching the large man beside him pulling on the string, and shooting arrows at makeshift targets a hundred yards away. His dark hair was cropped underneath the brim of his woven straw hat. There was a serene look of content on his stone yet warm face.
" Hey dad, what'a ya do'in?"
The man chuckled.
"Practicing."
He cocked his head sideways, becoming curious at the vagueness of his father's response.
"Practicing what?"
"Archery."
"What's archery?"
The man's patience was seemingly endless with him.
"My job."
"What's your job?"
"I'm a Yu Yan Archer."
"What's that?"
A low, throaty laugh escaped the man's solid composure.
"My, you certainly are a curious one, aren't you Kiyoto? The Yu Yan are a group of archers that protect the village."
He paused for a moment, mulling something over.
"Can I be a Yu Yan, dad?"
The man grinned.
"Maybe when you're older, Kiyoto. Right now you're a bit too young."
His shoulders drooped in disappointment. His father continued.
"But,"
The man kneeled down on one knee, resting his arm on his mid thigh.
"I can teach you how to shoot a bow."
The man smirked as he said this. Immediately, his face brightened and his voice returned to it's natural perkiness.
"Really, dad? That is so cool!"
Until mid day, his father led him through the sequences of how to hold the bow, how to set the arrow just right, when to release the string at the perfect moment. He was good at keeping the bow steady as he shot, but his aim was horrid. He pulled back the cord, and the arrow flew straight…into a nearby rock. He sighed, becoming miserable. His father came up to him, and showed him a secret to keeping aim.
"Don't focus so much. All you have to do,"
He'd said,
"is just let everything melt away except you and the exact point that you want to hit. Go ahead, try again."
And he did. The arrow flew as straight as possible, slicing a snowy petal off of a nearby daisy.
"Dad! Look, I did it! I did it! Did you see?"
He franticly rushed over to the flower, pulling it out of the dry dirt by the base of the stem. He ran several feet away and picked up his arrow, which had skewered the petal through the very center. He brought his prize back to his dad.
"Look!"
The man beamed with pride at his accomplishment.
"Wow, you've gotten really good at that. Maybe someday you'll be better than I am."
He erupted into a fit of giggles as his dad began to tickle him, making him drop the forgotten trophy.
"Hehe, dad! Stop it!"
He squealed as the man began to chase him around the empty field. Out of breath and panting heavily, he dropped down onto the grass. His dad lay beside him, and they sat watching the clouds roll by in the crystal blue horizon.
Suddenly, one of the villagers burst through the trees and into the clearing.
"Eito! Come quickly! Fire Nation, they're raiding the village!"
Eito bolted upright, and was on his feet in a flash. He began to get up as well, but his father held him down.
"No. stay here, Kiyoto."
He began to protest.
"But dad! You said I was a good archer, like you! Why can't I help?"
"It's far too dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt! The Yu Yan and I can handle it."
"But-"
"But nothing, Kiyoto! You are to stay here until I return for you, is that clear?"
He nodded his head, filled with anger and frustration. His father ran off to follow the villager, pack slung across his back and bow in hand. On his way, he dropped his hat.
Soon the hours faded to days, and he could see the blaze though the forest beginning to die down. His father still hadn't come for him, and he was terrified. He'd been alone for days, which he had never done before. He slowly crept toward the edge of the clearing and saw his father's hat on the ground before him. He knelt down and picked it up, placing it on his own head after turning it over in his small hands. With a sudden burst of bravery, he began to make his way toward the village.
The unforgettable stench of burning flesh greeted him upon arrival. He looked around his former home to see the charred remains of hundreds of bodies among the burning embers.
"No…"
He whispered. He began to run. Through the village, dodging bodies at every corner. His eyes stung with tears desperately wanting to be shed, and his lungs burned with every gasp. But he kept running. He had to get to the forts, where the Yu Yan were stationed during attacks. He saw what he was looking for, still a ways away. He pushed himself to go faster, faster than he had previously thought possible. His legs cried out for mercy, but he would not give in to them. At long last he reached his destination. He looked in nearly every fort, and nearly every one was empty. By the time he reached the last one, he had counted a total of five Yu Yan dead, and the rest gone completely. A chill ran up his spine as he opened the door to the last fort. There, in the middle of the floor, was a single body. A familiarly embroidered, stocked arrow pack lay beside it; on the opposite, an old, cherry-birch bow. He began to scream.
"No!"
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. It was all just a dream, a nightmare. Before he knew it he was sobbing. His shoulders shook uncontrollably. Gone. It was all gone.
He stayed in the fort for days, until he realized that he would have to leave, fend for himself, survive. He picked up his father's bow and arrows, and said one last goodbye before exiting the fort. Something inside him had hardened that day, frozen over. When he had joined the Freedom Fighters, Jet had told him to remember why he fought. The day that he had seen everyone he had known and loved, silenced forever, that was why. In their memory, he vowed to silence himself. To remember why he fought.
When he stepped back into the present reality, Jet was still watching him. He lowered his bow to his side, and stared back at him briefly. With a sharp intake of breath, he tried to clear his head once again of the memories. He shifted to return to the tree forts. This was why he fought.
I know, craptastic, right? This story's been in my head for a week, just begging to claw it's way out so...here it is. It seems a little rambley and choppy, I know. But if i didn't get it down, it would continue to drive me slowly insane. Reviews are appreciated, please!