Their bonewood swords came together with a resounding thwack. Every nearby bird scattered from the canopy and fled into the sky. From there, the fight became a series of parries and thrusts. It was the rhythmic sort of battle that came from years of sparring with the same partner. The rules were well-established by now. First to score three touches was the winner. And the winner was always Alashar. Always.

He scored his first touch with a slash at her hip.

Shale was so eager to come back at him quickly that she left her right flank exposed. Quick as a viper, Alashar took advantage of the mistake, shifting and striking to score his second touch.

"Be patient," he shouted, "And don't neglect your footwork."

Breathing, she tried to focus more on her movement beyond her sword and started to get her head back in the game. With a glance at his feet, she read his instep, hopped back, then swiped at his unprotected shoulder to score her first touch.

Alashar lunged back at her with a fierce jab, but she managed to roll out of the way just in time, then swung her sword at him. He ducked under it, but he was still off balance when he turned. Shale danced, feigning to the right and he went to block. Then she swivelled to the left and caught his forearm before he could pull away, scoring her second touch.

They backed off each other and circled, grinning.

"Two points apiece," she said, "Scared yet?"

"You've learnt some fancy new tricks. I'll give you that-"

"No tricks here. Just pure skill."

"-but I fear this farce must come to an end."

He dashed forward and once again they sparred. This time they went back and forth with slow, tactical strikes, in a bid to conserve energy. The fight became a cautious affair, with neither wanting to force an opening at risk of leaving one of their own.

Sweat stung Shale's eyes and her clothes stuck to her skin. Her muscles were beginning to tire. Alashar continued his relentless storm of attacks, seeming as fresh as he'd been at the beginning. With each attack Shale blocked, she was forced back another step.

Oddly, she noticed his eyes weren't focused on her, but beyond. With a peak over her shoulder, she saw the glassy pond lay several paces back.

So that was his plan. He was going to corner her against the water so she'd have no ground to fall back on. Despite her knowledge of the tactic, she was too exhausted to stop it. Her arms protested every slash, jab, and swipe.

Alashar took her to the lip of the pond and after Shale's arms slumped to her sides, he arced back for the finishing blow. As his bonewood sword rose, she had an idea. She did something crazy. She gave into her imbalance, dropping as dead weight.

Alashar's sword found only fresh air as Shale's body hit the grass. She rolled behind him and in one fluid motion, pushed her knees against the grass, rising and spinning. Alashar turned, attempting to slash her midriff, but she was quicker. She drove her sword upward, right into the meat of his belly.

The world went still as the thunder of battle faded from the air.

Slowly, she realised what she'd done. "I win," she said, stunned. "I did it. I finally beat you."

"Congratulations."

"Why thank you."

His chest was heaving. "You were fantastic. You-"

Her smile evaporated. Now that she had time to think things over, it all became clear. "You let me win."

"No I didn't," he said, looking highly offended.

"Yes you did. You could've finished me at the end."

"No, you were out of range. I-"

"Pulled your strike. Admit it. You can't lie to me, Alashar."

She thought this would turn into another one of their recurring arguments, where they'd argue about it for weeks, until she finally wore him down, then he'd admit the truth. But this time, they skipped all that.

"Fine. I let you win."

"You said you wouldn't do that anymore. You said that if I won from now on, it'd be for real."

"But you fought so well. I can't fake this." He mopped his sweaty brow and showed her his glistening palm. "You pushed me to my limit."

"But not beyond it. Never beyond it."

"You deserved your victory."

"There is no 'deserve' in battle. One man gets blood on his sword and the other gets buried. That's how it is. If I couldn't beat you at my best, how am I ever meant to win on merit?"

"It's unlikely anytime soon. I'm the better fighter."

It was the obvious truth, but she was so accustomed to him cushioning his blows that the sharpness of it stung.

Her wounded surprise must've been reflected on her face, because he chuckled at the sight of it. "Come on, Shale, of course I'm better. I'm a foot taller and two years older. I've had way more practise. There'd be no justice in the world if I wasn't better."

"I'm not asking to be better. I just want to win once."

"Then keep doing what you're doing and don't compare yourself to me. Compare yourself to your past and you'll see how far you've come."

"But how else can I catch you?"

"I didn't have a teacher." He shrugged. "Not only can I correct your mistakes, I can help you avoid mine. You're already twice the fighter I was at your age."

"You really mean that?"

"Absolutely. You're my toughest opponent."

"Tougher than Marus and Jekir?"

"Please. You'd dance rings around Marus. Now you and Jekir would make an interesting fight, but my coin would be on you."

This did appease her slightly. It was easy to get downtrodden by a lack of short term progress, but she'd remain positive if she was still improving in the context of the bigger picture. It was true that the once significant skill gap between Alashar and herself was decreasing.

"You're right. I'm sorry for getting upset."

"You're just passionate is all. But since we're on the topic of the merits of practise, how about we try the bow?"

She made a face, which caused him to laugh. They both knew her feelings on the bow. Swordplay was fun and intuitive, but the bow was such a precise weapon that practise felt like a chore.

"Come on. You could be the best swordsman in the world, but if you're across a field or atop a rampart, what good is a piece of sharp metal? A good soldier-"

"Is all-rounded and can fight in many situations."

"So you do listen."

"Occasionally. Let's just get it over with."

He retrieved her bonewood sword and deposited it, along with his own, back into the hollow. Then, from within, he withdrew the bow. It was a red, yew-hewn hunting bow, strung with hemp. It'd taken months of gathering shivies from tavern alleyways and saving up to buy it from the fletcher's son. Brath had been so pleased to make his first sale that he'd thrown in a quiver full of goose-fletched arrows at no extra charge. Currently, just three of those remained. Arrows tended to blunt and break when shot at trees.

Alashar handed her the items. She strung the quiver to her back and tested the bowstring with an arrow. Meanwhile, he circled the clearing and gathered blackberries from the surrounding bramble.

When he had a handful, he approached the second elder bonewood. In the centre was a faded pink stain and shallow holes from their previous sessions. That was where Alashar mashed the berries, creating a darker, more pronounced purple stain.

"Ready?" he asked, stepping to one side.

"Ready," she said, setting her feet and nocking an arrow.

She drew back the bowstring, aimed at the target, then loosed.

The arrow whizzed to the left. Her stomach heaved. She could only squeak as Alashar threw himself to the ground. The arrow flew right through the spot where he'd been standing.

"Oh, Eleven." Shale held her hand over her mouth. "Alashar, I'm so sorry."

"That's quite alright," he said shakily as he pushed himself up. His clothes were covered in mud and leaves. "You just got a bit too eager."

"I could've killed you."

"Don't be so dramatic. I'm perfectly fine. Just remember to go through your mental checklist like we talked about. Space your feet a yard apart, keep your elbow high, and align your eye with the arrowhead and target."

"I forgot to raise my elbow."

"That's quite okay." The colour was returning to his face. "Ready to give it another go?"

Bragan be blessed, there was no stopping him. Here she was, trembling like a windblown leaf, and he wanted to give it another try? Instead of trying to squirm her way out of this one, she reluctantly fetched a second arrow and nocked it. She would just have to make sure this shot was a lot better.

This time, Alashar sidestepped further to the left as Shale went through her forms.

Three.

Two.

One.

Loose.

The arrow zoomed a few inches to the right of the target.

"Well done, Shale," Alashar said, applauding. "That was much better."

"Couldn't have been much worse," she muttered.

"Give yourself a bit of credit. Why are you so critical?"

As bad as he was at lying to her, she knew she was ten times worse the other way around, so she told the truth. "It's just that I've been at this range for months."

"And learning the bow is a lifetime commitment."

"But shouldn't I be hitting it from here every time? How am I ever meant to progress to a moving target?"

"You do appear a little tense as you take the shot." He scratched his chin, thoughtful. "Try to have more fun with it."

She glared at him. One moment she was forgetting her techniques and now she was too tense? "How am I supposed to have fun when I'm trying to remember all the things I'm doing wrong?"

"The more you practise, the less you'll need to remember. The technique will be ingrained."

"Anything else before I mess up the next shot?"

"Yes, on the subject, try to believe in yourself more."

"Believe in myself more?"

"When you step up to take your shots, I can already see the defeat, written across your face."

"How do I think differently when all I do is fail?"

"Well, when I step up, I first visualise the arrow hitting the target."

"So that's your secret? Just picture it?"

"I know it sounds silly, but it works. I think we all have that voice in our heads, telling us all the things we can't do, and I think yours often gets the best of you. You can't make it go away forever, but if you learn to ignore it, it'll grow quieter. If you tell yourself you're good enough and really believe it, you won't miss."

"Okay, okay. There's no need to lecture." She smirked, hoping that he knew it was a jest. She really did appreciate his patience, deep down. "I'll give it one more try, just for you."

"You'd better."

She nocked the final arrow and let her forms take over, concentrated but relaxed. Beneath the surface, she could almost hear that voice, telling her she wasn't good enough.

"I can do this," she whispered to it. "I can."

For a second, she soaked it all in. As the colours and smells of the forest swirled around her like a vortex, she took a moment to truly appreciate these days, of having stupid fun with Alashar. Today the world was beautiful and she was happy. Today she was alive. That tide of doubt that was always present within her ebbed away. Belief bloomed, fierce and powerful. It settled into a warm, almost familiar feeling.

Then she aimed and pulled back the bowstring.

"Shale?"

There was so much earnest concern in Alashar's tone that she lowered her bow to look at him. He was staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "What is it?"

"Sorry... it's nothing." He blinked hard. "I thought I saw something, but it must've been a trick of the light."

"Thought you saw what?"

"The air around you. I thought I saw it-"

But whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a loud metallic ringing that filled the forest. Any birds that hadn't been disturbed before, now fled the canopy, flying into those places above the clouds, where no human would ever reach. Shale and Alashar gazed at each other and slowly realised what was making this sound, a thing neither of them had heard in many years. It was the ringing of the monastery bell.