It was after lunch when Connor and I headed into the forest for some target practice. I told Achilles what we had planned. He was fine with it, provided it didn't interfere with my chores. I knew by 'chores' he meant my obligation to make sure supper was on the table at a decent hour. I promised him it wouldn't.
Connor had an old bow he let me have for training. He said it had been his when he was younger. It was more slender and shorter than his current one. It was also aged and plain. I asked him why I couldn't just use his. It had a pretty design and a nicer grip.
"The draw weight is suited to my strength," he answered.
I wasn't sure what he meant by that. I had the notion all bows were the same, and using one was the same as using another. "You're just afraid I'll break it," I complained.
Connor smiled at that. "You will not break it. I doubt you would even be able to pull the string back far enough to fit an arrow."
"Really?" I said offensively. "You think I'm weak because I'm a woman?"
"No. That is not what I think."
"That's what it sounds like to me."
Connor sighed in resignation. "Very well," he said. "Prove me wrong."
We exchanged bows. His was quite a bit heavier than the one he had given me to begin with. I lifted it and pulled the string. Or tried to. It was very taught. I only managed to move it about six inches before my strength gave out. I handed the bow back to Connor without looking at him.
"You were right," I said quietly.
Admitting it almost killed me. Luckily, Connor was gentlemanly enough to not gloat and accepted the comment with only a shrug.
Before Connor would give me an arrow, he lectured me on how to properly hold the bow. He suggested I keep it raised to eye level to help with my aim. I found it harder to ready it when I held it that way, but I did as he said. I understood why Connor had told me to wear my hair back when I released the string. As close as it was to my face, it would be easy for my hair to get attached to the string. I wondered if that was why he wore his the way he did.
The first arrow I fired didn't go very far. I found the technique involved more difficult than I had thought.
"Well, that sucked," I admitted.
Connor looked at me. "If that means you did poorly, I agree."
"Shut up," I told him, smiling in a way that let him know I was only teasing.
Connor grinned as well. "Retrieve the arrow and try again."
I walked the few feet, picked up the arrow and walked back to my position.
"Remember to keep a good grip on the bow as you release," Connor advised. "And only steady the arrow with your back hand. Rest it on your front, but do not hold it. And aim high to account for the arch."
I did as he said. I adjusted my hands and steadied them. I sighted for a moment before releasing. The arrow went a couple yards and nailed a slim birch tree.
"That was good," Connor complimented.
"I was actually aiming for the oak behind that tree, but I'll take what I can get."
"With more practice you should have no trouble reaching a farther target."
"Thanks," I murmured, not sure if it was a compliment.
I went and got the arrow and begin again. Our session lasted about two hours. By the end of it, my arms were sore and tired. Connor said I hadn't done terrible for a first-timer. He asked if I wanted to pick up where we left off tomorrow. I told him I did.
As we started to go back to the house, I remembered that I had never seen him use his bow up close before. I asked him if he would show me how it was supposed to be done. Connor nodded and readied his bow. His stance was relaxed and perfect. Much better than anything I had been able to achieve.
"Do you see that maple tree in the distance?" he asked.
I squinted and nodded. It had to be a good twenty feet away.
"Keep your eyes on the orange leaf on the lowest branch," he said.
I looked where he told me to. There were a few orange leaves on the lowest branch. I didn't focus on any certain one, I just kind of watched them all. Connor barely took a second to aim before firing his arrow. The leaf at the center of the tree disappeared.
"Damn," I breathed. "You're better than Green Arrow."
"What?"
I told him a bit about the superhero I used to read about, told him that he was the best archer in the world. When Connor understood it was a compliment, he nodded and thanked me.
"I am sure that there are people better than I am," he stated modestly. "But not many."
I smiled. "Wow. You are not the least bit conceited, are you?"
"I am only being honest."
I laughed and we began to walk home.
"How long have you been using a bow?" I asked him.
"Since I was old enough to hold one," he replied. "I was raised to be a hunter."
"In your village?" I asked tentatively, hoping that was a correct term and not offensive to him.
Connor nodded. "It is called Kanatahseton. My people are Kanien'keha:ka, The People of the Flint."
I didn't know much about Indians and found what he was saying to be quite interesting.
"Do many people in your tribe speak English? Or did Achilles teach you that, too?"
"Most of my people speak our language," Connor told me. "But it was my mother who taught me English, not the old man."
"You speak it pretty good," I told him.
Connor grinned at the incorrect adverb I had used. "Better than you."
"Hey," I said in mock defense. "I know how to speak proper English. I just choose not to."
"You do know that speaking incorrectly complicates the language for the learner?"
"I guess that's why English is the hardest language to master."
We walked for a bit, and he glanced at me. "Do you speak any other languages?"
"I can say a few words in Italian, Spanish and French. Mostly swear words, though. But I do speak fluent geek."
Connor frowned. "What is geek?"
"The language of smart, unpopular kids who read too much," I muttered.
"You mean outcasts?" he questioned.
"I guess that's a good way to put it."
"That is a language I can understand," he said. "I am an outcast as well."
I glanced at him. I had never thought he felt that way. He always acted so confident. I had forgotten that in this time period, most natives were thought of as heathens and savages. Everyone on the homestead accepted Connor. But I knew it wasn't like that everywhere he went. I remembered the incident with the man at the store. I wondered if the rude comments were as bad as it got, or if the racism was worse in the larger cities. The harsh words, the derogatory comments. It irritated me that people could be so prejudiced. Connor was a nice guy. He didn't deserve to be treated with such disrespect just because his skin was a different color. I personally found his tanned complexion beautiful. It made me jealous. I could achieve a nice color when I sunbathed.
"Well, I think you're cool," I told him.
Connor eyed me, trying to decide if I was complimenting him. I smiled at the confusion on his face. "That means I like you," I said.
"Oh," he murmured. "In that case, I think you are cool, as well."
Connor frowned at me when I laughed. "Did I use the phrase improperly?" he asked.
"No," I answered quickly, quelling the giggles so that he wouldn't be offended. "It was just strange to hear you say that."
"Why?"
I shrugged. I wasn't really sure if I could explain why the use of a colloquialism was funny to me. "I guess because you're always so proper," I told him. "You don't use contractions, you're smart, you always speak so nonchalantly. It was just odd to hear you use a slang term."
A small grin formed on his face. "I would probably feel the same about hearing you speak the way I do."
I looked at Connor, thinking that he could actually be fun to be around. He was more relaxed now than I had ever seen him. More like a normal teenage boy. I wouldn't mind hanging out with him more if he could act this way all the time.
"I do not doubt that," I told him in a tone like the one he often used.
"Don't mock me," he muttered in return.
I felt comfortable enough to give him a playful shove and he grinned at me.
We arrived back at the house. I paused before going in and looked at him. "What do you want for supper tonight?"
Connor didn't look at me as he answered. "Deer."