So guys, long story short: i broke my arm. it was a really bad break, my arm was at a funny angle and they had to put me under to set it and everything. So, typing is a serious pain in the booty but i have some movement back in my left hand now so I'm trying. There'll be typos and things, obviously, but you should be able to figure it out... enjoy!
"I'm almost as old as Halt was when he apprenticed me," Gilan said. "And he didn't take an apprentice until he was going grey. I'm looking for one you know, and Sandy seems like he's a good boy." Will and Gilan rode side by side, Sandy trotting ahead of them and looking about the woods.
"Well get in line," Will said, smiling take the harshness from the statement. "I have been a ranger for almost 7 years now, Gil. i could use one too." Gilan grinned.
"Well if you don't want him for some reason..." Gilan continued, looking to where the boy rode ahead and was looking at the ground in great interest. Sandy dismounted, and they rode up to see what he was looking at. In the soft dirt were the faint outlines of wolf prints. To the two Rangers of course they were blatantly obvious, but they both realized most common folk wouldn't have seen it. But, if the boy had shot a hunting bow, he probably had principal tracking skills.
"Male wolf," the boy whispered almost to himself, then traced a jagged line in one of the forepaws with mild interest. "Scarred. Probably three or four years old." The Rangers exchanged a startled glance. The boy looked up and seemed to notice they were behind him for the first time, and jumped. He put his hand to his neck in surprise, then relaxed. He looked at them uncertainly, then swung back up on his horse in a comical struggle between small boy and large gelding.
Sandy spurred his horse ahead without a word to either Gilan or Will. The two looked at each other for a long bit before continuing after him. "I think I'll take him all the way to the gathering ground and see what Halt thinks of him," Will said uncertainly, now. "But I am taking him if he wants; I'll talk to him tonight about an apprenticeship." Gilan nodded. Will looked up at the sky and noted the sun's position; nearly an hour after they had paused for the noonday meal. A bit ahead they could see the boy pause his horse and glance down at the track, then continue again. Sandy had done this throughout the day, Will had noted, but now he paused where the boy had and saw tracks once more.
Faint outlines of raccoon paws, hardly notable. But they were there. And he was certain the boy had seen them. Gilan saw them too, and stared, open in his disbelief. Together, they continued after the boy, and each time they found tracks where he stopped. As the sun drew near the western horizon, and there was only perhaps an hour left of daylight, Will called to Sandy to stop and make camp away from the track with them. The boy jumped off his horse and looked back at Will, and Will gestured to a small hill they could camp behind out of view of the track.
The boy went with him, and threw his crimson cloak to the ground in one smooth movement. Not for the first time, Will was struck by the girlishness in the movement, and how the boy's face was familiar. He pushed the thought aside.
"I was thinking," Will said, "That fresh meat in a stew tonight would be lovely." Gilan and Sandy voiced their agreement. "Sandy?" Will asked, turning his attention to the boy. "Would you help me find deer?" The boy's face flushed.
"I'm no shot with a bow," He said, shifting uncomfortably.
"No, but you are a tracker," Will said. Sandy shifted uncomfortably, but nodded to the truth of the matter. "Good. Then we shall set out now while Gilan sets up camp." Will grinned at the irritated, pouting face of his friend. "Lead the way." The boy paused, then pulled off his boots. Will frowned for moment, but when the boy walked back out to the track his face cleared. Without the hard soles of the boot, his step was completely silent, feet bending around any sticks he failed to avoid, and soft steps lessening the crunch of leaves. Will of course needed no such help and could achieve the same with his soft hunting boots, but he admired the boy's forethought.
The ground sloped down from their camp to the trail, then continued on. Without pausing, the boy continued downwards through the small mountains in the outskirts of Redmont. In the valley he would soon come to, there was without fail a stream, where he could easily pick up a trail. Will nodded to himself once more; it was an obvious way to tracking. He followed in the boy's steps, then stopped in surprise. The boy's bare feet left no trace of his passage; the sticks were unbroken and his step didn't crunch the leaves to make noise, and as such they were filed the tactic away for future reference, and continued.
The stream was a wide one, with clear water and broad muddy banks that glimmered with mica. Here, the boy's steps left marks.
"What sort of deer are you looking for?" Sandy asked, and Will remembered how easy he had classified the wolf prints.
"A buck," he said slowly, trying to come up with a challenge to track. "Three or four years old, preferably with a limp."
Sandy walked with a cat-like grace, a smooth gate, across several deer tracks, looking at each one for a moment. Then, he picked out the heavy hoof-prints of a buck, and noted the size. 3-4 years, roughly, he decided. Or close enough. The left front hoof didn't fall evenly with the others, indicating a limp. Will watched the boy with interest as Sandy picked out the trail of a buck that fitted the criteria.
Sandy glanced up at him, then gestured to where the prints left the mud. They were no more than ten minutes old. The buck had passed parallel to the creek, out a good twenty meters. Sandy padded through the trees in the buck's wake, Will following silently behind him. Now, Will thought he could just make out the boy's foot falls, and he breathed in relief. The boy was getting unnerving.
Sandy paused behind a large bush, glancing around it, then gesturing to Will. Will looked around it, and sure enough, there was the buck, with a scar across his front left leg from an old injury. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, knocked, and aimed. The buck registered the hiss of the arrow too late to move, and it slammed through the eye and the buck fell motionless. Sandy whistled softly.
"Good shot," he said, and Will strode forwards. The grey shaft pointed up to the sky, the legs crumpled under the weight of the buck. Will looked at it for a long moment, deciding how best to get the carcass back to camp. Sandy saw his hesitation, and let out a piercing whistle. Will jumped and glared at the boy. Soon, however, he could hear the steady clop of a horse through the trees and saw the grey gelding Sandy rode.
"Well trained horse," he said shortly. Sandy shrugged.
"He would often be on the other side of the field so we needed a signal that would carry to call him back," the boy replied. Will didn't respond, because he was too busy throwing the buck over the saddle of Sandy's horse. He grunted under the 300 pounds of muscle and bone, but got him on the horse. The gelding snorted his protest, but stood firm. Sandy whipped the reins over the horse's head, and led him uphill, disdaining to go back the way they had come.
It was right about then that a huge dark blue arrow flashed past their heads.
