and the tension to just her arm.
Letting go, however, saw her shoulder lead her torso around. That made her strangle a gasp of pain and nearly double over.
The stone went spinning away nearly sideways to her target.
Helgaer stayed bent over, bracing herself with her right hand on her knee, while she cursed herself for a fool.
When she felt able to carefully straighten up again, she put a smaller rock in the sling's cup as she walked much closer to the target.
This time, she spun it smoothly without trying to be fast, releasing it lightly.
It flew off to the side, but it did not bring another stab of pain.
With this encouragement, she tried again, adjusting her stance, swing and release. She was rewarded by the stone, even a rough and uneven one, thunking solidly into the coiled rope.
By the time she emptied her pouch of stones, she could send one the length of the clearing and not miss the target by too much. Given how high she needed to send it at that low speed, she was prepared to accept that as a good start.
By the time Camille returned, as the sun was dropping towards the trees, Helgaer's arm had the pleasant dead feeling of exertion, but she was not sweating with pain.
Camille insisted Helgaer sleep on the single bed while she lay on the pile of skins again.
Helgaer, more tired than she had realised, did not try to argue.
The next morning, Helgaer was awake earlier than the previous morning, but still much later than Camille, who returned with a large pheasant while Helgaer was sorting through the chest of old clothes.
"You're not good at relaxing, are you?" Camille asked that evening when they were both once more sitting on the bench, enjoying the last of the sun.
"Relaxing means there's something important you're not doing," Helgaer said flatly.
"Your father said that or your mother?"
"All Vreelanders say that."
Camille pushed her legs out and pulled her toes back, stretching. "Ever think maybe relaxing is the important thing that needs doing?"
"Plenty of time for that when the sun's down." Helgaer let it sound like a quote.
Camille didn't say anything for a minute, but her lip quirked. Finally, she sighed. "You're going to dig yourself an early grave if you can't let yourself heal or rest when you have the opportunity. But okay, maybe there is something to be done. I have blades that need sharpening. Care to join me?"
Helgaer relented. She did need to learn to relax while healing, and her blades—all three of them—did need sharpening. She pulled her small stone from her pouch and her knife and dagger from their sheaths, laying them on the bench next to her. Her sword was propped against the wall by the end of the bench. No matter how secure Camille's eyrie was, Helgaer did not feel safe enough to be far from her weapons.
Camille returned from the cabin with several daggers, a bowl of arrow heads and two large stones. On the way back to the bench, she picked up her quiver as well.
Vreeland girls are given knives as young as boys are and care for them themselves. Helgaer sharpened quickly, holding the correct angle by long practice and using bold strokes over the stone.
In contrast, Camille was lighter, moving no less quickly or surely, but treating each blade with care. She seemed to caress the stone with the steel, where Helgaer was firm and authoritative.
Helgaer tested her dagger's edge lightly on her thumbnail.
"Where did you learn all this?" She asked Camille. "I cannot imagine a Danovan woman ever being allowed to pick up a bow from what I've heard."
Camille, intent on her work, snorted without lifting her head. "You'd be right," she said, examining a dagger before returning to drawing it lightly over the finer of her two stones. "Or carry a knife this heavy, or be taught how to sharpen it, or be allowed to wear pants or hose. But anyone not pretty enough to marry rich had to work the fields. I guess I was lucky enough to get some strength," Camille said sourly.
Helgaer looked at
Letting go, however, saw her shoulder lead her torso around. That made her strangle a gasp of pain and nearly double over.
The stone went spinning away nearly sideways to her target.
Helgaer stayed bent over, bracing herself with her right hand on her knee, while she cursed herself for a fool.
When she felt able to carefully straighten up again, she put a smaller rock in the sling's cup as she walked much closer to the target.
This time, she spun it smoothly without trying to be fast, releasing it lightly.
It flew off to the side, but it did not bring another stab of pain.
With this encouragement, she tried again, adjusting her stance, swing and release. She was rewarded by the stone, even a rough and uneven one, thunking solidly into the coiled rope.
By the time she emptied her pouch of stones, she could send one the length of the clearing and not miss the target by too much. Given how high she needed to send it at that low speed, she was prepared to accept that as a good start.
By the time Camille returned, as the sun was dropping towards the trees, Helgaer's arm had the pleasant dead feeling of exertion, but she was not sweating with pain.
Camille insisted Helgaer sleep on the single bed while she lay on the pile of skins again.
Helgaer, more tired than she had realised, did not try to argue.
The next morning, Helgaer was awake earlier than the previous morning, but still much later than Camille, who returned with a large pheasant while Helgaer was sorting through the chest of old clothes.
"You're not good at relaxing, are you?" Camille asked that evening when they were both once more sitting on the bench, enjoying the last of the sun.
"Relaxing means there's something important you're not doing," Helgaer said flatly.
"Your father said that or your mother?"
"All Vreelanders say that."
Camille pushed her legs out and pulled her toes back, stretching. "Ever think maybe relaxing is the important thing that needs doing?"
"Plenty of time for that when the sun's down." Helgaer let it sound like a quote.
Camille didn't say anything for a minute, but her lip quirked. Finally, she sighed. "You're going to dig yourself an early grave if you can't let yourself heal or rest when you have the opportunity. But okay, maybe there is something to be done. I have blades that need sharpening. Care to join me?"
Helgaer relented. She did need to learn to relax while healing, and her blades—all three of them—did need sharpening. She pulled her small stone from her pouch and her knife and dagger from their sheaths, laying them on the bench next to her. Her sword was propped against the wall by the end of the bench. No matter how secure Camille's eyrie was, Helgaer did not feel safe enough to be far from her weapons.
Camille returned from the cabin with several daggers, a bowl of arrow heads and two large stones. On the way back to the bench, she picked up her quiver as well.
Vreeland girls are given knives as young as boys are and care for them themselves. Helgaer sharpened quickly, holding the correct angle by long practice and using bold strokes over the stone.
In contrast, Camille was lighter, moving no less quickly or surely, but treating each blade with care. She seemed to caress the stone with the steel, where Helgaer was firm and authoritative.
Helgaer tested her dagger's edge lightly on her thumbnail.
"Where did you learn all this?" She asked Camille. "I cannot imagine a Danovan woman ever being allowed to pick up a bow from what I've heard."
Camille, intent on her work, snorted without lifting her head. "You'd be right," she said, examining a dagger before returning to drawing it lightly over the finer of her two stones. "Or carry a knife this heavy, or be taught how to sharpen it, or be allowed to wear pants or hose. But anyone not pretty enough to marry rich had to work the fields. I guess I was lucky enough to get some strength," Camille said sourly.
Helgaer looked at
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