Meyrin centered himself and drew his bow carefully. Effortlessly. He savored the moment of slight resistance as he drew, took comfort in the sense of peace that aiming provided. He was calm, in control, disregarding the thunder in the distance, adjusting his shot for the increase in the breeze from the coming storm.

He fired five arrows in rapid succession, hitting his target dead-center each time. Which was unfortunate for the three arrows he had broken, but that was why he had been making them himself for years. He adjusted his stance and aimed for a target twice as far away. This time, only four arrows hit the center circle as his final one was caught by a sudden gust of wind and hit just outside the others.

Behind him, he heard the sound of horses entering the cobbled yard of the inn where he lived with his aunts. Horses meant guests. Meyrin recalled suddenly that there was little in the way of meat available to feed any guests at that time of year. Had it been a month later there would have been venison aplenty, and a month earlier they had butchered the old milk cow because keeping her alive much longer would have been cruel to her. It hadn't been the best beef any of them had ever had, but it had been meat. It also wasn't quite harvest time for most of the vegetables growing in the garden, though that would come soon enough.

As Meyrin was considering the inn's food situation, a flock of geese at the nearby pond was disturbed by the coming storm and took flight. Without another moment of thought, Meyrin shot three in rapid succession. He knew his aunts would be happy to have their meat to feed themselves and their guests.

When Meyrin entered the inn through the kitchen door a short time later, after collecting his arrows and his geese, it had started to rain and the thunder was rolling much more loudly. His aunt Reeya met him as he entered and appeared relieved to see him.

"We were afraid you would be caught in the storm," she explained, then she saw the geese he held and appeared even more relieved. "Thank you. Having some meat to offer our guests will be appreciated."

Meyrin set the geese down on the table, then hung his bow and quiver behind the door. "I heard them arrive in the yard, but I didn't see how many. It sounded like they rode hard to outpace the storm."

Reeya nodded. "They did. It's only two, thankfully. And a pair of Wandering Tetimi, even more fortunately."

Meyrin had seen the slow decline of the inn over the course of his life and knew what a relief it was for his aunts to know they only needed to prepare one room for a pair of Tetim Lanali. All in Nairiume knew that most Tetimi were lovers or otherwise intimate enough to not object to sharing a bed.

"What would you prefer I do?" he asked. Helping to run the inn was something he'd been doing for almost as long as he could remember. In truth, he enjoyed helping. It made him feel useful, as less of a burden.

His aunt waved him aside. "Go see what we can do for them to make them comfortable. I'll see to the meal."

Meyrin nodded. "Of course."

When he entered the main room of the inn he found the guests sitting at a table in the middle of the room, talking to his aunt Evanphira. She nodded to him and took her leave to assist Reeya in the kitchen, a peal of thunder drowning out whatever she said as she passed him. He assumed it was a comment in relief that he had made it inside before the storm had descended. Meyrin returned the nod, then turned his attention to the guests. They appeared to be a man and woman only slightly older than him, somewhat wind-blown from their hurry to outpace the storm, but otherwise with the same bearing of authority and power carried by all other Tetimi Meyrin had seen. He had learned some time ago that he could tell much about a person from the decorations they wore in their traditional Nair braid, and so took a moment to quickly analyze those decorations the guest wore. To an extent the numerous tattoos a person wore could also tell much about them, but because even the smallest villages had at least one person highly skilled in tattooing, such things were common for all people in Nairiume. Far more could be determined about a person from their hair decorations.

Both Tetimi wore beads and charms of glass and various metals in their dark braids, and the woman had a crisp blue ribbon neatly woven through her hair. They didn't wear a large number of decorations like many of the wealthy travelers - though few in number in recent years - usually wore. Their collections were far more practical, but still indicated they had status and no lack of resources. He did, however, notice what appeared to be an old wooden bead carefully incorporated into the man's hair. Such beads spoke of a more rural life or upbringing. Most of Meyrin's own beads were made of wood, though he also used feathers from his fletching to adorn his own hair and the last remaining bit of ribbon that was his only tie to the mother he had never known. The ribbon was faded and frayed, but there was still a hint of its once-vibrant red color in its threads. Depending on the season, he and most others in rural areas also used grasses and flowers to decorate their hair.

Meyrin smiled at the guests. "My name is Meyrin. Welcome to the Cracked Hoof Inn, though I'm certain my aunts already welcomed you. I assure you our stablehand, Jarroll, will ensure your horses are looked after. I just brought in some geese, and my aunts will have a fresh hot meal prepared shortly, and a comfortable room for you for the night. Do you have any other requests? Has my aunt already offered you anything to drink?"

"She has," the woman replied, her voice carrying something of a city accent, the sound of her words sharp like those who were highly educated and not softer like those from more rural areas with less structured schooling systems. She glanced at her partner, who nodded. "We actually wanted to speak to you," she continued. "How old are you and how long have you been an archer?"

Meyrin was surprised by the questions. "I'm sixteen and I've been shooting for over six years."

"Who taught you?" the man asked. His voice was smoother, his accent more like those Meyrin was used to hearing among the people he often dealt with in Cirrane, the town two hours' walk away and closest to the inn.

"There was a traveling hunter who used to come through here every year. He taught me how to shoot one year, and I practiced until he returned the following year. Each year he helped me master my skills more and more. He even taught me to make my own bows and arrows. He hasn't been through in two years now." Meyrin hated to think that the kind man, who had called himself Biltrin, had died, but it seemed the only reason for his disappearance. He had been getting older, and Meyrin was certain the constant traveling must have been trying on him. He still hoped that Biltrin had gone to live somewhere comfortable and hadn't died yet after all.

Another loud rumble of thunder filled the air, and after it had passed the woman spoke again. "We saw you practicing when we arrived, and hunting the geese. When the storm is over, would you care to show us more of your skills?"

Meyrin wasn't certain why the Tetimi would wish to watch him shoot, but he nodded. His aunts had always told him it was best to do as the guests wanted, if the request was reasonable. Shooting a few arrows didn't seem unreasonable, even if he wasn't certain what doing such a thing might mean for his future.

"Of course," he replied. "I would be more than happy to."