Unbroken (Haytham Kenway)

Chapter 7

The next few months were comparatively easy, especially with at least two meals every day. The tension between the two women dissolved slowly, and became a tentative companionship. Clara learned something new every week or so, such as how to cook, the routine of waking early, how to hold and handle various weapons (but never how to truly fight with them), and how to utilize one's eyes to their fullest.

Now, Mentor was teaching her hunting. It was far more interesting than cooking, which is the reason Clara actually paid attention to it. A doe, large for its age, was grazing in a nearby grove. The older of the humans silently stepped forward, drawing an arrow to join her bow in her steady hands. Slowly, ever so slowly, so that the subtle rasp of shaft on leather was barely audible, she brought the fletching of the arrow back to her cheek. An inhale, and with the next exhale the sharp head of the arrow was flying toward the doe's side.

It went down with a cry, and moved no more. Mentor went forward to carry it home, her path still soundless. After she picked it up, her feet made precise steps even with the burden slung over her back. "Soon you will become accustomed to walking with lighter feet." The woman grumbled afterward, "I dearly hope so, at least."

The world was in full Spring by then, a welcome change from snow and ice. The plants and animals were abound with energy contained by the cold, and thus hunting was downright easy. Everything was free from Winter's chilled claws and happy to be so. Clara was just as happy; she only had to chop wood for the stove, and her feet were never numb when she got home after a long day.

They got back to the cabin after careful examination of several types of tracks -- and a few solid whacks to the head when Clara guessed wrong. Mentor gutted and skinned the doe, though she didn't make her apprentice try. That was for another day.

Mentor went inside to start dinner while her apprentice shucked off her meager assortment of small weapons and her coat. She was wiping away a bead of sweat when a wooden stick was thrown her direction. "Get up. It's time for you to learn to fight."

For the next month Clara was reduced to a wide collection of bruised skin and ego, but she could hold her own fairly well. Every sore muscle and pained step was worth it. With her newfound skills, Mentor told her to explore wherever her feet took her.

Sometimes Clara would have an entire day to herself, and she took advantage of it. She'd been later than usual as she made her way home after a day of wandering, seeing as the sun was beginning to set when she found the spot. What she discovered was a clearing, surrounded by bramble and accessible only by a small person squeezing through a tunnel of shrubbery (she'd been curious, despite the possibility of a raccoon or fox on the other end).

Because it was at the top of a steep drop, the horizon was hers as far as she could see, with hills and a vast carpet of green forestry. A light trail of smoke rose from the cabin's chimney, not that she could've seen it without her training.

The cliff couldn't properly be described, but it allowed her to simply relax. It was her safe spot, and only she knew of it. The smell of cedar and fresh air, the feel of a cool wind in her hair and on her neck, the taste of the wilderness on her lips and the sounds of the world ringing in her hears; it made her more alive than ever.

She stood on the edge, closed her eyes, raised her arms, and imagined wings of gold and wax, like Icarus from the myths (though she couldn't recall quite how that fable had ended), sprouting from her back to carry her on the Sky's whimsical breeze. She felt freedom, and peace, and serenity.

Leaving the clearing brought her pain and worries back, which is why she resolved to run the two miles there and back every morning as a rule. Call it a meditation spot, if you will. Whatever its name, it provided her with a place to be herself, and after her experiences at the cabin, she knew to value that more than any previous metal or gem.

It was especially treasured because her husband had haunted her dreams lately, namely as a lost, forgotten ghost. She wondered sometimes if she could've saved him if she had been home. She wondered at the woman who stood over him with blood on her hands, staining her perfect white robes. Anger and pain would pull themselves tighter around her heart like a noose. There wasn't anything to be done about it; not yet. The cliff allowed her to find an escape for the night terrors.

The routine of her day was a welcome stability, especially when she was learning something new every minute. All the same, the woman who murdered her husband made her impatient and irritable. Mentor knew the story well enough by then, had been woken up by Clara's screams many nights, and understood her anger.

One evening, maybe two weeks after Clara found her cliff, the two women were sitting on the steps of the porch. It was warm, with a cooling breeze. They munched on nuts and fruit with a comfortable silence.

"I think you're ready for your first assignment." Mentor spoke suddenly.

Clara was surprised, to say the least. "I am?"

The woman nodded. "Ill be with you, of course."

"Of course." Her apprentice echoed. Inwardly, she was bubbling with excitement. Her own mission! It was a huge leap in her training, and a mile in the progress to getting justice for her husband. Soon, she would hunt the woman down and her husband would be at peace. She would be at peace.