"I became a scout because it was expected of me. My tribe is always short of people willing to hunt and kill. Most would rather spend their days gathering the forest's bounty and sleeping in trees. So when the daughter of a scout famous for his mercilessness is born, her path is already set. She must "contribute to the war effort, for the good of the Tribe" or be ostracized.

     So I became a scout. I learned from my uncle since my father was already dead, a "hero of the Tribe who defended us in time of need". My mother was a priestess of the Great Spirit, and so obviously did not "engage in activities such as hunting". I would have wondered how two with such disparate beliefs had shared a den long enough to sire child, but I knew my mother had been given as an unwilling gift to a reluctant saviour after he had commanded the scouts in a dangerous battle against the Blood Empire. I learned how to loose an arrow to hit the center of a painted tree at 200 paces. Then I learned to do it while my uncle created distractions. Then while on the back of a breeze hart. Finally, my uncle declare me ready, and we went on a hunt.

      The first hart I killed was easier than I thought it would be. Most of the tribe would find the sight of blood nauseating. Many would even have an aversion to such a violent proposition as drawing or even touching a bow. But while we followed the blood trail to the dead creature, and then skinned it for it's fur, I found I had no reaction. The only thing that caused me slight disgust was the fact that we would leave all of the meat for the scavengers, since the tribe insisted that the practice of eating living creatures (in this case once living) was barbaric.

     My uncle's lip curled upward to reveal a canine in that manner I took to mean he was slightly displeased. Whether it be from the slaughter of an innocent animal or my obvious lack of distaste with such a thing, I could not say. The next day, we began to engage seriously in learning how to stalk other sentients. Animals were easy, they had a fairly set series of responses to any event. Once one became accustomed to any particular beast's habits, one could nearly hunt with closed eyes. But sentients, they have minds. A sentient has more than just cunning, they might act in any number of ways when presented with a choice. In this way, the illogical nature of a sentient makes them the most dangerous quarry, and the most interesting.

     I played stalking games, first with other young scouts-in-training, then with my uncle and other experienced scouts. Finally, after five years of learning, I had reached my majority at 14 winters. My final test was to hunt a small group of invaders who had trespassed in the forest without permission. Soldiers from the blood empire, an enemy hated for their unnatural clearing of forests to create farmland and their infamous expansionism.

     It was a difficult test. The eldest among them seemed to be able to sense every trap I laid, and was always alert to my presence when I watched their camp at night. Another one wore no armour and seemed to be unfailingly pleasant to those around him. The other seven were fairly standard soldiers of the empire, as far as I  could tell. Young men with flat feet and clanking armour, easy for even the most incompetent hunter to sense even a hand's ride away.

     Eventually I determined their watch schedule and waited till the eldest was asleep. With only two of them barely awake, it was simple to sneak up close to them while they sat together, staring into a fire at night and talking. While I crept closer from an angle just outside their line of vision, I kept my eyes averted from the fire to maintain my night vision. The, I used a trick I had practiced to hunt large groups of small game (only for their pelts of course). I carried one arrow between my thumb and forefinger, and three more between the first knuckles of my other fingers. At short distances, this could allow one to fire arrows faster than the prey could react to the first arrow. My first arrow pierced the throat of the first prey as I had planned, but my second only grazed the shoulder of the other as he shifted to stretch his leg. Fortunately, I still had two arrows ready in my fingers, though I must admit that shooting from between long and blood finger or even blood and lesser finger is more difficult. Still, my third arrow went home as I expected it to. Unfortunately, the second prey had gathered some air into his lungs to shout for help, and it wheezed out as he fell to the ground.

     The sound was soft, but it apparently carried to the sleeping roll of the eldest, and was enough to alert him. I heard him stir, and at this time my father's cold temperament was a great help to me, as it had usually been when I was hunting. I calmly tossed the last arrow up to grip it between my thumb and forefinger for the longer and more difficult shot, then smoothly pulled and loosed straight into his just opening eye. I glanced around to see if any of the other sleeping prey had been awakened by the small scuffle, but they didn't stir. I was glad of this because trying to draw more arrows quickly from the quiver at my side would most likely cause some small noise. I quietly hooked the flap of my quiver and set down my bow, so I could have one hand free to use as a gag and the other for my dagger. The rest of the prey died silently.

     When I got back to my village, I was not expecting a parade for my bravery. I was not expecting a small celebration for my safe return, or even a few kind words for the completion of the task from my violently pacifist tribespeople. But I was also not expecting to have my wrists bound, by my own uncle no less, and dragged to a wheeled cage. Apparently, the men I had killed were not intruders, as I had been told, but a diplomatic mission from the empire to turn the unofficial ceasefire between our races into an official peace treaty.

     I asked why no one was sent to stop me the entire time I had been stalking them, and my uncle glanced away as he said they had just received word from the main village of who they were the day before I returned. So I was sent to the capital in my cage to be tried by the High Priestess of the Great Spirit. My mother came with me and the two guards that had been sent to ensure I didn't escape. I recognized both as those I had considered weak hunters for their obvious reluctance to kill. Villassah was a good stalker, and Gerehthah was an accurate shot, but such talents were wasted by their weak wills.

     As we journeyed, I tried to speak with my mother, but she never once even glanced my way. I turned the two guards to try to extract more information about my trial, but only received contemptuous sneers in reply. So I treated the trip as practice to remain still and watchful for cautious quarry.

     We reached the main village, though no one called it that since all tribesmen were to be treated as equals. There, I was not even given time to rest, but immediately dragged to the sacred grove for my trial. Along the way, I was pelted by rotten fruits an vegetables by the local tribespeople. It seemed they had been told of my coming, and they lined the sides of the trail through the village to bombard and mock me. Finally, we reached the grove, and I was dragged out of my cage to stand before the assembly of significantly better dressed "tribespeople" and priestesses.

    The High Priestess asked what I was accused of, and I must admit my ear cocked in curiosity. My mother stepped forward and calmly accused me of knowingly killing the envoy from the Blood Empire and his guards. There was a small stir from the surrounding crowd, but not as big a reaction as one might expect. Then she went on to list many instances of my "disturbing lack of compunction when involved in practices that would lead to the shedding of blood". This evoked a much more intense response, and the High Priestess seemed to nod slightly in satisfaction. I was not allowed to speak in my own defence, and my two guards added to the testimony against me that my mother offered in great detail. The trial concluded with a near unanimous agreement for trial by the Holy Waters of the Sacred Bog. In other words, if I could contrive to float in mud, all was forgiven. Otherwise, the Great Spirit had judged me as unfit to dwell in his forest, and I would be returned to the earth as nutrients for his trees.

     I was taken to the Sacred Bog to be drowned or smothered, depending on the consistency of the muck in which I happened to be tossed. But just before they began the proper religious ceremony for such an execution, a worn scout rode up on a fresh hart. He panted out to the High Priestess that the Blood Empire had sent a detachment to look for their missing emissary. A commotion much like a political debate arose among the surrounding "tribespeople" and priestesses, and eventually even the High Priestess started to shout her opinion on what the tribe should do. I glanced over at the worn scout who was watching the commotion with dull eyes, and quietly crept closer while his back was turned. I vaulted atop his nice, fresh hart, obviously kept for important message relays. As he turned as the noise of my mounting, I kicked him in the face, then urged the hart to start for the forest. eventually, the shouting mob behind me noticed that I had left, and one of the priestesses shouted for Villassah and Gerehthah, my once-guards, to mount their harts and chase me.

     I knew that I had to first free my hands, but doing so was perilous while on the back of a galloping hart. I slowly leaned over, keeping my body close to the side of my mount, and gripping strongly with my legs. I cursed because the scout had apparently kept his dagger on his belt instead of attaching it to the saddle of the hart. Then I recalled that he had waved for attention with his left hand, and bent over to check the other side of the saddle. I cursed once again, this time at myself for missing such an obvious thing just because I was under a bit of pressure. My father would be most likely have been ashamed.

     As I leaned to grab the knife, my mount jumped to clear a small bit of deadfall. I quickly caught hold of the belly strap, and hoisted my self back up. Then I tried once more for the dagger. I could hear my pursuers getting closer, as they could concentrate on urging their mounts on while I could not. I finally grasped the hilt of the blade, and managed to turn it around in my hands and cut my binding. With one hand on the pommel, I managed to unhook the bowcase and quiver without further incident.

      Drawing an arrow, I turned to glance at the approaching hoofbeats. Gerehthah was close on my left, and Villassah a bit further back on my right, which suited me well. I had wanted to kill Gerehthah first anyway since she was the best shot between the two, and also a bit less unwilling to draw her bow than Villassah. I drew an arrow only a bit before she did. Both of us raised them to our bows, and my slight advantage in speed was reduced back to parity as I had to twist around in the saddle to take aim at her. I noticed that she had wisely drawn her bow horizontally to allow her turn that little bit more towards me. Both of us loosed at the same time. I saw that my arrow penetrated the left of her chest and slipped between her ribs to her heart. Her hide armour did little good since we were only 30 paces away from eachother at this point. Unfortunately, she was as good a shot as I remembered, an her arrow took me in my stomach just below my right ribs. I suspected she had also been aiming for a heart shot, but flinched slightly at the sight of my arrow heading for her. I grunted in pain, but I had no time for it.

     I felt another arrow graze past my cheek from my right side. Unfortunately, to deal with Villassah, I would either need to shoot left handed and backwards, a proposition I was most unconfident of, or find a way to get him on my left. He, of course, would know this, and try to stay in my blind spot. Fortunately, his poor archery and greater distance meant he was more likely to miss that Gerehthah had been. I lay my body down close to my mount's back to reduce the size of his target, and scanned the forest trail ahead through my mount's ears. Again luck was with me, as it was a doe, and trying to operate a bow around a buck's antlers would have been a pain. Bucks were kept for the light lancers, as they sometimes managed to gore an opponent who had been missed by the rider's lance. Mounted archers, such as myself, preferred does, for the obvious reason previously cited. 

     "Light lancers?", you ask, "Weren't your people "violently pacifistic"?" Yes, but even my people recognize that we cannot live peacefully in such a warlike world, even if they will not admit it. So when war inevitably comes, or is even provoked by "tribespeople" and priestesses greedy for greater tracts of forest, the "tribespeople somewhat more blessed by the forest's bounty" become light lancers. The "tribespeople greatly blessed by the forest" become heavy lancers since they can barter for much better armour and barding, usually made of bone, wood or sometimes bronze, on top of hide. The "brother and sister tribespeople who are less blessed" walk to battle with a mix of armour and weapons depending on what they can afford. And the scouts serve as archers, mounted or not depending once again on the level of "blessings" the Great Spirit has seen fit to allow the forest to drop upon their heads.

      Anyroad, I stray from the story. I managed to find a stretch of densely tangled brush and thickly growing trees on my right, so I drew near as I safely could to force Villassah to pass closer to my left. At First he stayed right behind me, but I could tell he was having difficulty keeping his mount from shying away from the tangle. I risked riding even closer to the trees, and as he tried to follow, his mount refused him and turned to run nearer to the center of the trail. I had an arrow ready on the string, and managed to turn and loose, ignoring the pain in my stomach, before he drew his bow again. I had aimed once again for a heart shot, but the twinge from my stomach had caused a deviation in my aim. Luckily, it hit his throat.

     I kept the bow in hand in case I came across any more pursuers, and continued to ride through the remaining daylight and the next two nights. I knew that I was roughly headed for the Endless Forest, a collection of trees that even my people feared. It seemed that there was no further pursuit, as the dead envoy had probably sparked another small conflict between the Breeze Tribe and Blood Empire. I finally collapsed from exhaustion, my mount barley in better condition. Breeze harts were incredibly tough, but not even the sturdiest mount could run forever, to say nothing of the rider. When I awoke, I do not know how many hands or days later, I first extracted the arrow in my stomach and bandaged the wound. Fortunately, the arrow was a leaf head rather than a barbed one, so removing it was not too difficult. I then remounted and continued at a slower pace to my somewhat nebulous destination. And so I arrived here."