A/N:Here's the next chapter! Sorry it took a little longer than I expected, life seems to been taking a sledge hammer to me recently. I've got hit with trouble at school and loss at home... it's not been a fun few weeks. Anyhow, this chapter doesn't have flashback because it's a continuation of the other (and also because I'm lazy and couldn't seem to weave in a fitting one). X) I hope everything seems believable and in character... I'm trying my best. Thanks to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed: you make it all worth while and really provide the motivation to continue!

Ranger-Corpses: Yup, all three of them are heading headlong into some trouble XD Thanks for the review, it means a lot!

TrustTheCloak: Thanks so much for the review, and for what you said :3 It made my day to read. I liked the idea of Will and Alyss somehow meeting and decided to run with it. I'm glad Horace seemed right, I'm always super worried about getting character portrayals right. Yup, Gilan's definitely got his work cut out for him, and their little band is going to have a lot to deal with.

Dragonslover98: I really like Will and Alyss so I couldn't resist XD Next chapter will probably be mostly about Halt and Evanlyn finally getting to Araluen. Also, I'm glad Will and Horace's trouble seems accurate/believable to you: I was pretty worried about it. X) This chapter should answer the question of just how much trouble they'll get into XD Thank you so much for the review! I appreciate it!

Chapter 10: Of Outlaws and Friendships Part II

~x~X~x~

Will hadn't trailed the men very far into the woods before he realized that he wasn't alone. He was being followed. The first clue came from the sound of several snapping twigs and a rustling of the brush behind him. Will turned to look in that direction and felt his eyebrows draw together as he frowned. It seemed that Horace had seen him leave the village after all. He stopped short, seeing no other choice but to wait for Horace to catch up. He couldn't well sneak up on the men with Horace blundering about through the undergrowth so loudly after him.

"Will!" Horace said, smiling in relief as he finally caught up with him. Part of him wanted to apologize or at the least find a more congenial way to speak with him, but he saw no encouragement to try in Will set features and hard eyes. It was quite the opposite really. Horace hesitated for a moment before he shrugged diffidently.

"What are you doing?" he asked instead, his tone sounding a little bit more accusatory than he'd wanted it to in response.

Will raised a quick hand to his lips for silence and seemed about to speak before his eyes suddenly widened.

"Horace! Look out!"

Horace turned in the direction of Will's pointing finger and his mouth went dry as he saw a large man with a sword coming at him from the side. Almost instantaneously, he became aware of two other figures: one coming at Will from behind, and another still, coming at them from the other side. Those other two were further behind the first man and had only just cleared the underbrush. Horace, as soon as he was aware of the danger, immediately drew his sword and pushed Will behind him in an attempt to shield him.

Will watched horrified as Horace's sword met with that of the first man in a ringing clash of steel on steel. He recognized the men as the ones he'd been attempting to follow. His heart sank as he realized that they were outnumbered and about to be surrounded. Obviously, the outlaws had somehow become aware that they were being followed and had doubled back to outflank them… Outflank and kill them, Will realized as Horace deflected a cut that would have taken his head from his shoulders.

The bigger boy moved after his parry to get in a counter swing and the unthinkable happened; Horace stumbled as his foot caught in a depression that had been partially covered by heather. Losing his footing entirely, he fell. The outlaw saw his opening and struck. Horace tried to deflect again, while he was falling, but the attempt was clumsy. He let out a cry as his forearm was grazed. His sword fell from his hand.

Horace lay helpless before the murderous man—Edric Gamel Will realized as he became dimly aware of the boar emblazoned on the surcoat. But that hardly mattered. Will really only had eyes for the man's sword as he started to sweep it down towards Horace's unprotected frame. Will acted immediately, throwing himself at the outlaw, sending him off balance. Will, with no weapon to speak of, lashed out with his body instead. He hit and clawed at the rough man even as he clung to the man's side. The wildness of the attack took the outlaw by surprise for a few moments before he managed to fling Will off of him with a violent movement of the hand that held his sword. Will tumbled to the ground, stunned, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder and chest.

By then, Horace had again gotten to his feet and reclaimed his sword. He stood protectively over Will. But things were starting to look dire as the outlaw's two companions finally reached them. Horace gritted his teeth and raised his sword, trying to keep track of all three at once, readying himself for the first deadly attack. But it never came.

Edric let out a cry as the shaft of an arrow seemed to sprout out of his chest, piercing his heart. Then Gilan was among them, driving forward into the remaining two, pushing them back and away from Will and Horace.

The two bandits were caught off guard by the sudden attack and the speed and power behind it. They both searched their new opponent's eyes for any indication of hesitance or mercy and saw none. As soon as they saw that, they intensified their own efforts, fighting back with all the fury and desperation of cornered rats in a trap.

Horace didn't know how Gilan had come to be there, and he didn't really care in the moment. He was just glad he had arrived when he had. As soon as he saw that Gilan was handling the last two, he knelt quickly by where Will lay to see if he was alright. Will was already trying to sit up and Horace lent him a hand.

"You saved my life," Horace said, then added, his tone disbelieving, "you attacked an armed warrior with your bare hands! I've never seen anything so brave…" he trailed as he remembered all the bullying things he'd said and done—and all because he'd be insecure and jealous. He felt even more ashamed than before. "Why? I thought… well…"

"I don't hate you," Will said when he could find the words to speak, he was still shaking from the reality of his brush with death, and could feel tears gathering in his eyes. Nevertheless, he took a breath and finished speaking. "I mean, we may have fought, but I never hated you."

All Horace could do was shake his head amazement before he nodded, understanding. Then he made a decision. "I owe you my life. I'll not forget it. If you ever need help, or a friend, I'll be there."

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment before Horace reached out a hand, mimicking what Will had tried to do earlier that day.

"I'm Horace," he said, smiling.

Will smiled also but that turned into grimace as he reached out his hand in return. "Will—" he started to say but cut himself short with a soft groan.

As the shock had started to wear off, he'd become more and more aware of a pain in his chest and shoulder. It was a pain that was exacerbated tenfold by the act of reaching out his arm. He lowered it quickly and reached up with his other hand to touch the spot. He paled when it came back bloodied. Horace too saw the blood and the red that was starting to stain Will's rough tunic. Horace's eyes widened and he rose to his feet, calling to Gilan as the woodsman cut down the last outlaw.

"Gilan, help! Will's hurt!"

Gilan swore softly and made his hurried way over. Quickly, but as gently as he could, he removed Will's shirt to assess the damage. Horace saw Gilan's jaw set as his quick eyes took it all in. There was a long flesh wound that stretched across the right side of Will's chest and to his shoulder. Gilan could tell at a glance that it wasn't too serious. It was long, but not overly deep, and it hadn't caught any major arteries. The seep of red was fairly fast, but not dangerous.

However, there was an area of it near his shoulder that would probably need stitching. The bleeding wasn't heavy, but Gilan pressed Will's now balled up shirt into it to temporarily staunch the flow. He called Horace to hold it in place while he retrieved his horse, fetched some water, and the medical kit. He set his bedroll on the ground and helped Will on it, then filled some bowls with water. Having done this, he took a cloth scrap and dipped it in the bowl before kneeling again by Will.

"This might hurt a little, but I need to clean the wound or it'll get infected, understand?"

Will nodded once, his eyes misting, either from the pain or the shock of what had happened—Horace couldn't tell. All he could do now was hover like an anxious mother-hen, fidgeting. He clenched his left hand over his right forearm. As he'd been holding the cloth to Will's wound, he'd realized that he was bleeding too. Vaguely, he remembered the cut to his forearm. He didn't want to draw attention to it though. Will needed help more urgently.

"Horace," Gilan said, "I need you to take the linen strips I use for bandaging from my medical kit and set them out."

Horace complied immediately, eagerly, heading to the saddlebag that Gilan had retrieved from his horse. While he did that, Gilan carefully cleaned Will's injury. His movements were deft. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but his face was set in a hard expression that seemed so disgusted, angry, and almost vacant that Horace kept his distance while he worked. The water in the bowl soon ran pink instead of clear. Fresh blood seeped in to fill the cleaned wound, but the seep was slow and not at all alarming.

Gilan rummaged in his pack for some healing herbs, making a paste from them with an obviously practiced hand. Then he reached further into his pack for a very specific slave.

"This might sting a little too, Will," he warned as he spread it carefully over the bleeding gash.

Will winced as it indeed stung on first contact and then he visibly relaxed.

"It dulls the pain and helps stave off infection," Gilan explained as he threaded a needle to stitch the deeper part of the cut. Throughout the process, Will remained stoically silent, not looking forward to the questions he knew were coming now that the emergency was passed. It didn't take long.

"Just exactly what were you two trying to do?" Gilan demanded to know as he worked, his voice sounding angrier than Will had ever heard it.

"It was my fault," Horace blurted, gripping his arm harder where the sword had cut it. "I-I," he stammered as he tried to find an explanation. But Will cut him off.

"I-I'm sorry." Will stammered, not wanting Horace to take the blame; he had seen Horace's first instinctive move to try and protect him from Edric. In Will's opinion, Horace had saved his life as much as he had saved Horace's, and he didn't want him to get in trouble. "It was my fault. I decided to follow them," he admitted, his voice tight.

"I just wanted to prove that you didn't make a mistake letting me travel with you—that I could be just useful as Horace… I thought that, if I found out where that outlaw made his camp, that you'd—you'd…" his words trailed away into a soft pained groan and he closed his eyes. "Please don't send me back to the village," he finally managed.

"Why would I do that?" Gilan asked, sounding dumbfounded.

Will was too exhausted and hurt to do more than whisper miserably, "because I messed up."

Then, despite the pain, he straightened. He had made a mistake, a big one. The least he could do was face up to whatever punishment that might descend like a warrior, a knight—like his father would have. Having decided this, he looked Gilan squarely in the eyes.

"Yes, you messed up," Gilan agreed, his expression neutral and fairly unreadable. "And quite spectacularly I might add."

Will flinched, but Gilan wasn't finished. He tied off the last painful stitch and looked Will in the eyes in turn. "But Will, messing up is part of learning and growing—I'm hardly going to throw you to the wolves for it. And I doubt you'll go around making that mistake again." He shook his head.

Will now looked at him with a mix of uncertainty, confusion, and surprise, so Gilan continued.

"The only time you ever have to worry about mistakes is if you keep making the same ones. You don't have to prove anything to me—and I'd never send you back to that village of yours. I asked you to come with me because you already proved yourself when we first met."

He tried to ascertain whether or not that had sunk in and nodded to himself when it looked like it had. He then took one of the long strips of cloth, helped Will sit up, and began carefully bandaging his chest and shoulder. When he'd finished his bandaging, he set a length of the linen aside.

"Just stay still and rest for a while, now," he said as he eased Will back down.

Since most all of their supplies were back at their camp, Gilan spread his own blanket over Will, gently arranging it comfortably around him. He lightly touched Will's shoulder.

"It'll be sore for a while and stiff in the morning but don't stretch or pull at it; it'll aggravate the wound. You'll need to take it carefully for the next three days or so, alright?"

Will nodded and then lifted himself up just enough to wrap his arms around the woodsman. After a startled moment, Gilan returned the embrace gently, mindful of his injury. New tears brought on by relief and the stress of everything filled Will's eyes and he buried his face in the fabric of Gilan's tunic, not wanting Horace to see them.

"Thank you, Gil," Will murmured finally before laying back down, his tired eyes already starting to close. And Gilan thought he meant it for more than just tending his wound. So thinking, he simply nodded once. Then turned to Horace, who had been standing a few paces away. He was still holding his arm and looking away so as to give Will his moment of privacy.

"Now, let me see that arm of yours, Horace."

Horace started a little guiltily. He really should have learned by now that Gilan's eyes rarely missed anything, he thought ruefully. The tall warrior gestured for him to sit and reached for the bowl and cloth he had set aside. He then treated Horace's arm in much the same manner that he had just treated Will. Then the woodsman then told him to rest, went to deal with the dead outlaws, before moving off to sit alone and completely unmoving in that odd way of his.

Horace settled down near Will and tried to rest, but it was a fruitless effort. Every time he thought of Will and everything that had happened he found himself wincing, the guilt steadily eating away at him. He fidgeted while he debated with himself and then rose to his feet. He looked over to where the taller warrior was sitting. He clenched his fists and then approached him slowly, trying to gather his courage.

"Gilan?" he asked, reaching out a tentative hand out to tap his back.

"What is it?" Gilan asked, rising easily to his feet and turning to face him.

Horace slid his gaze away from the taller warrior's, shuffling his feet. "I just wanted to thank you for rescuing us."

"I think you just did," Gilan grinned and then, taking in Horace's stance and expression, he tilted his head to the side. "But there's something else?" he prompted.

Horace took a breath and then squared his shoulders.

"Yes sir, I wanted to let you know that it was really my fault that we were out there, my fault that Will felt he had to prove himself… I… I behaved like a bully towards him. I made fun of his stature, and his lack of a last name, and I told him that he could never be a knight…" he glanced up uncomfortably to see Gilan staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"And then Will went and showed me that he probably has more courage than anyone else I've ever met ... what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry. This happened because of me and I'm willing to take any punishment you see fit."

Steady eyes met his, searching until that he was certain that Horace really did understand and the gravity of this all, then nodded when he was sure. He knew he didn't need to explain why it was wrong; Horace knew it and was genuinely sorry.

"Alright Horace," he said finally, "thank you for telling me. As for punishment," Gilan shook his head, "I think your bandit friends took care of that well enough." He seemed to consider for a moment, then added, "But you can take the brunt of Will's camp duties for a couple days; he could certainly use the help. Does that sound fair?"

Horace stood at attention."Yes, sir."

Gilan shook his head in mock reproach. "There you go again with the 'sir'. Trust you to remember that from Battleshool but forget other aspects: such as the bit against bullying," He said teasingly, smiling to let Horace know it. He had made a mistake but he had learned from it, and it wouldn't be repeated. The matter was over.

Horace however, seemed to have frozen in place, a stricken look on his face. Then he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position.

"Horace?" Gilan asked then, crouching beside him, concerned.

"Bullying isn't allowed in Battleshcool?" Horace asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Isn't allowed is phrasing it lightly—isn't tolerated would be a better way to put it," Gilan answered, wondering what Horace was getting at. Though, he had a suspicion that he knew.

"But, I thought…" Horace trailed.

"Horace?" he asked again.

"So, if I had just gone to the instructors about it, it all would have stopped?" he whispered, "I thought that they knew about it and just allowed it as part of the toughening part of Battleschool."

Gilan's concerned eyes turned sad then with understanding. "Horace, I'm sorry," he said with such a silent note of understanding that Horace found his lip trembling faintly as his eyes began to sting.

The expression on Horace's face was so miserable that Gilan eased into a more comfortable sitting position beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. Horace, without realizing quite how he got there, Horace found himself leaning into Gilan in turn. All the guilt and stress of the day, mingled with all the previous pain that he had tried to bury, hurt too much for him even to be truly embarrassed by this show of emotion. What was more, Gilan didn't scorn or mock his pain, just quietly sat beside him, offering what little he could.

"I couldn't ever get my lessons done on time, fell behind, and was late for classes and drills…" Horace found himself speaking. He took a breath, "I had always thought I'd been dropped because I couldn't take it, because I was too weak to deal with it all." He took another shaky breath, "And the whole time, if I had just let the instructors know, those boys would have been dropped instead of me?" The words burst forth from him before he could stop them.

And it hurt—like digging out thorns that that been buried under his skill for far too long. Yet with the hurt also came a strange feeling of relief that they were out. Though the relief of knowing the truth could not quite, at that moment, dim all the pain, frustration, and anger of it all, the jarring realization of such lost opportunity and unfairness.

He'd spent the whole previous year always hurting, miserable, and alone. Even after he'd left, he'd been burdened by that black feeling that he'd failed because he was weak, because there was something inherently wrong with him.

At his words, Gilan turned his head towards him.

"Look at me, Horace," and Horace obliged, meeting the warrior's earnest gaze. "You are not and have never been weak. What happened to you in Battleshool never should have, and none of that was ever, or should ever have been on you. Don't carry it with you now."

As he said it, Horace instinctively knew that he was right. It wasn't true that he'd been dropped or bullied because he was flawed or weak. With that realization, he was finally able to move past the brunt of the hurt. It wasn't fully gone and he knew it would be a while before it would disappear fully, but that time was over, and it would no longer haunt him as it had. He had the start to a family now, true brothers for the first time that he could remember, he thought as he glanced at where Will now lay sleeping.

He was happier here than he had ever been before. Those realizations and Gilan's simple affirmation of understanding, and support were enough for Horace. He sniffed faintly, wiping at his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he truly felt like everything would be alright for him. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but it would be.

~x~X~x~

Crowley stood in the stables of the northern castle that Duncan had made his base, tightening the girth strap on Cropper's saddle. The first light of day had not yet brushed the horizon, but Crowley intended to get an early start. He turned, however, when he heard the soft tread of a footfall near the door to the stable. He hadn't expected anyone but on-duty sentries to be awake at this early hour.

"Lady Pauline," he greeted warmly, as soon as he saw who it was.

"Planning on an early start I see," she said. "I almost thought I missed you."

"Well, there was no sense in my just hanging around any longer. I have my mission, and I managed to rearrange my men enough to send one of my best Rangers to Gallica to see about the princess."

"I take it you had to bring back another of your retired Rangers to do that?" she asked.

Crowley nodded. "It's getting so that I'm no longer certain that there even is such a thing as retirement for a Ranger anymore," he admitted a little glumly.

"Too many people depend on you," she agreed. "Which is why I wanted to make certain to tell you to be careful. Travel safely Crowley."

As she said it, she had stepped towards him and laid a quick gentle hand on his cheek. They had been friends and staunch allies for a long time after all. In fact, there had once been a time when he had thought that they might… he shook his head inwardly.

"And you," he returned, his scarred face breaking into a genuine smile. He knew that she would be leaving shortly after him, on her way to deliver the latest news, and plans, to Baron Arald and Battlemaster David in Highcliff. He led Cropper out of the stables and mounted.

"Godspeed," she called as he waved farewell and nudged Cropper into a trot. He glanced back only once to see her waving back before he was out of the main gate and heading quickly down the road, heading unwaveringly towards the south… and Morgartath's lands.

~x~X~x~

"I take it you have favorable news to report?" Morgarath asked sibilantly, holding the gaze of Teezal, one of his more useful subordinates.

The man nodded, licking his lips nervously as he searched for his voice. Morgarath smiled coldly at him, a smile that did not reach his black eyes.

"Our agents have moved everything into place. Your opening will be ready when you are. You can start moving your troops into position near Highcliff."

"That was to be expected," Morgarath said after a long uncomfortable pause.

Teezal nodded meekly, yet he still did not move off to bow and take his leave, he merely stood there hesitating. Morgarath made and ill-tempered gesture towards the man.

"Are you intending to stand there looking simple or was there actually something of import that you needed to say?" he demanded, his tone raised and cutting.

Teezal flinched, sweat starting to bead his brow. He hadn't spoken immediately because the other news he had to report wasn't as positive as the first.

"Yes, Lord Morgarath," he managed, trying hard to frame the words he knew he had to speak in a better way. Morgarath never responded favorably to ill news. Then he just miserably decided to have out with it. It was obvious that his lord was losing patience.

"There is still no word from that Gallic warlord you made contact with about Duncan's daughter. I don't think that he has her or can make the deal you planned."

He stood there, inwardly cringing, waiting for Morgarath to fly into one of his rages. But the Baron remained silent, unmoved, a cool look on his face.

"That's all that you had to report?" Morgarath asked scathingly. "I had gathered as much myself. Either he had failed to take the castle of Duncan's cousin—despite all the intelligence I provided him with, or the princess somehow managed to escape him. The rewards I promised him for her capture were far too exorbitant for him to stay silent if he had her in his grasp."

"What if he has her and decided to offer her safe return to Duncan in exchange for more than what you offered him?" Teezal asked.

"And you think," Morgarath sneered sarcastically, "that we wouldn't have heard anything about that?"

Truthfully, Morgarath had counted on the Gallic Warlord attempting to double-cross him like that. His intentions for striking that deal with him had arisen from the fact that he did not have the manpower to go after the princess himself—once he'd learned of her whereabouts. He had thought it a worthwhile gamble.

He'd decided that it would be enough just to cause Duncan significant distraction dealing with the ransom of his daughter. Or, if the Warlord had somehow surprisingly kept his bargain and delivered the princess to Morgarath, all the better. Either way, he would gain something. And even now, though the scheme had failed, he had lost nothing.

He glanced back to see Teezal standing pale-faced over his blunderingly foolish question. Morgarath smiled inwardly. It was good to keep his men guessing. It increased the aura of power and fear he had built around himself. Teezal was a man whose ruthlessness and cruelty struck fear into the hearts of many, so to see him like this whenever he reported or spoke with Morgarath, was somehow gratifying to the Baron.

Teezal, for his part, could bring himself to say nothing as he realized that Morgarath was right. It was very doubtful that they wouldn't have heard anything—especially if the Gallic Warlord intended to pit Duncan against Morgarath to drive up the price of a ransom. His thoughts were cut short, however, as soon as he realized that Morgarath was still staring at him. Anger was building up in his expression and black eyes.

"No, Lord, you're right," he finally stammered lowering his head in a small bow.

"Of course I'm right. That's why it isn't your job to do the thinking. Now leave me to my studies," he said finally with a dismissing gesture, smiling darkly as Teezal nearly fled the room.

Things were going well. Although the Araluens had put up more of a resistance than he had expected—a lot of that blame he placed on that meddling red-head Crowley—and had denied him claim of the entire kingdom, it was still more than he'd had before.

Everything was already moving into place. All he needed was to enact his plan to end a few key people in service to Duncan, and set in motion his other plan to gain a good foothold into the King's lands. From there, and when the Scandians he had hired arrived, he would be able to launch a full-scale invasion and finally claim the King's Lands for his own. It had taken him longer than he had first thought—but it would all be over soon.

~x~X~x~

"It occurs to me that I can't have you running around with no way to defend yourself properly," Gilan announced to Will about a week later, after the boy's injury had mostly healed. "Especially not if you take it into your head to come up with another harebrained scheme," he teased lightly.

Will flushed a little at the joke but looked up eagerly none the less, his brown eyes alight with excitement and hope.

"You mean you're going to teach me to fight? You're going to teach me the combat skills of a knight?"

"Not exactly knight combat skills," Gilan replied cheerily, "Ranger skills."

"How do you know Ranger skills?" Horace asked, dumbfounded. "Where did you learn?"

And odd vague look came over Gilan's face then—slightly vacant and slightly lost, as he seemed to seek the answer.

"I suppose I must have just picked it up during my travels," he said finally. "I have run across Rangers before. Once, when I was hired by a Baron, I got the chance to see a Ranger giving his apprentice a lesson in archery, and even got to overhear a few tips on silent movement. I also ran across another a couple years back…. Although, I didn't get to spend all that much time with him," he added, his voice sounding confused.

Will and Horace exchanged glances. Based on what they knew of the secretive, and seemingly mystical nature of Rangers, just picking up on their skills by hanging around them didn't seem overly likely. But they had no cause to doubt that Gilan knew what he was talking about. He usually did. And he had to have learned to move unseen like he did somewhere. Maybe he had learned both at the same time and place.

Gilan seemed to shake himself and turned to address Will, the smile returning. "Horace was probably right when he told you that you might be too small to easily become a knight—but that doesn't mean that you don't have skills in other areas. As I told you before, you are courageous, resourceful, observant and inquisitive. You're agile, good at moving without being noticed, and good at getting into places you're not supposed to. Those are all worthy skills and can be honed. There are weapons that would be a little better suited to you."

Will, who'd felt his heart sink at Gilan's first words found himself looking up hopefully at the end. His attention shifted expectantly to the bundle that the tall warrior carried, suddenly burning with curiosity to know what was inside.

Gilan proffered them towards the boy who took them eagerly, lifting away the cloth. Inside was a bow and a quiver of arrows. A week ago, Will might have underappreciated such a weapon as a mere hunting tool or a toy. He remembered quite clearly making a crude one for himself when he was younger after all. But that was before he had seen what Gilan could do with such a weapon. It had amazing potential, he knew now.

The bow wasn't shaped like the one Gilan carried though. It was smaller and the limbs were a bit different and seemed to bend back on themselves. He glanced at the bow and then at the one Gilan had slung across his back and looked a question at the woodsman.

"It's a recurve bow," Gilan answered the unspoken question. "It gives you more power with a lighter draw weight. The riders of the Eastern Steppes use them."

Will nodded and moved to the other bundle that had been inside the first. That one revealed two knives, like the ones that Gilan carried at his right hip.

"A saxe and a throwing knife," he gave Will a brief demonstration of both, ending by sinking the blade of the throwing knife into the trunk of a tree with an accurate throw.

Will tried to replicate that last move with his own knife. The blade missed the spot he was aiming for by several centimeters and bounced off the trunk with a hum and a clang. His face fell.

"It takes practice," Gilan said, "lots of practice. But the idea behind is simple enough: the greater the distance, the more rotations of the blade. Unfortunately, concepts and practice are usually very different," he said with a wry smile. "An ordinary person practices until he gets it right. But an exemplary person practices…" He looked towards Horace.

"Until he never gets it wrong," Horace finished for him, smiling too at Will's crestfallen expression.

Will then picked up the bow and tried to remember how he'd seen Gilan use it. He selected an arrow and drew back on the string.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews feed the muse if you've a mind to leave one. X) My head's a little out of the game at the moment, so I'm sure I made plenty of mistakes this time around; if you see one don't hesitate to let me know and I'll fix it as soon as possible. There seemed to be a lot of tears/sadness from Will and Horace in this chapter. I hadn't really planned it that way, but this was how it ended up coming out. But both of them have a lot that they need to work through, I think: so I hope they seemed in character. Next chapter's flashback will belong to Gilan and Crowley, and I'm planning on the focus mainly being on Halt and Evanlyn (I think it's about their turn) XD

I wish you all the absolute best until next time!

Dedication: To my grandmother, who brought beauty and kindness most everywhere she went, and always inspired and encouraged me to be creative and reach for my best.