[Flashback] Slings of Misfortune

[Dove Brown]

60 Spring 515

Rabbits were everywhere. They'd bred fast, spread fast and were taking over the fields. Dove had got one or two with thrown rocks, but she missed more than she hit and rocks didn't go that far. She could do with something that threw further, harder, and more accurately. She heard one of the other outpost children boasting of how many rabbits he'd caught with his sling, while making whirling motions over his head. Dove watched him for a while, then found a quiet place and tried out the whirling motion. It seemed doable enough so Dove reckoned that getting a sling and using that would be a reasonable place to start.

She headed to the market and found a stall with two slings for sale and some bullets to go with them. She fingered the soft leather of both slings and picked the softer one because it felt more flexible. She counted out a pouchful of sling bullets and asked the price.

The seller looked her purchases over. "7 silver mizas for the lot."

"Three," Dove countered instinctively, and then bit her lip. This wasn't food, where she actually knew something about the product.

The seller gave her a hard look. "Six. Lead is expensive and bullets take time to make."

"Four." She knew better than to give in at once.

"Five, and that's my last offer."

"I'll take it," Dove said and dug out the mizas from her pocket. She counted them into the seller's hand, gathered her new weapon and took it home.


Receipt1 Sling: 1 sm
40 sling bullets: 4 sm

[Dove Brown]

She pounded a heavy stick into the ground to use as a target, and then backed away as far as various walls would let her. She pulled the leather of the sling through her hands a few times to get the feel of it, and swung it empty. Or at least, tried to swing it. She had been so intent on getting distance from the target that she hadn't left room to swing. The sling hit the wall behind her, and then wound its way up her arm.

"Shyke!" she muttered, shook her arm free, moved away from the wall, and tried again. This time it went round her head successfully, though she almost hit herself on the head with her hand. She let the sling drop until it hung from her hand, slipped one of her new bullets into the small pocket in the middle of the sling and started to spin the sling up again.

She wasn't fast enough and before she got the sling even halfway round, the bullet had fallen out. She picked it out of the dirt, put it back in the sling and tried again. It took her another three tries before she managed to get the sling swinging with the bullet still in place. She grinned, punched the air with her free hand - and the sling thwacked into her other arm, complete with bullet.

[Dove Brown]

She yelped, dropped both sling and bullet, and clutched her bruised arm for a long moment. Then she glared at the sling. "You are not going to stop me that easily," she told crossly and picked it up again. She fished the bullet out of a straggle of weeds, put it back in the pocket and swung it up to speed as fast as she dared. This time she let go once she was wound up to speed - but she'd been holding both ends in the same hand, and somehow let both of them go. The entire sling and its bullet whizzed off to her left, landed, bounced, and spilled the bullet into the dirt.

"Petching thing." She stumped over to retrieve it. This time, she wound one end through her fingers and just held the other. Shoving the bullet into place, she wound up and let go. Only one end flew out of her hand, and the bullet landed in the dirt six inches from her foot with an audible thump. She dug it out and tried again. And again. And again, with sore fingers as the leather dug into her hand. Still she kept going. Gradually, her bullets went further, though none of them went in the direction she was aiming for.

She gathered them up, squinting at the ground for a gleam of dull metal, digging them out of the dirt, prising them out of cracks. Finally she had them and started again.

[Dove Brown]

She eyed the stick and bit her lip. If she was going to hit it, or even come close, she needed to figure out a way to send the sling bullets in the right direction. She started slinging again with pause between shots to work out where each one went. Slowly she began to connect the point where she let go, to the direction the bullet flew.

She collected her bullets up once more and rubbed the cramps out of her fingers. "Come on," she told herself. "You're getting there. Don't stop now." This time, most of her shots at least went forward. They made an arc, almost an arrow, pointing to the stick, but that was better than bullets in a full circle around her. It was going to take practice, but everything took practice. She'd learned that trying to cook and to sew and to hunt. It wasn't as if a sling took up much space, not like the swords and bows she'd seen knights carrying in the distance. She could carry it with her and practise when she had the chance, as soon as she mastered sending the bullet in the right direction.

With that in mind, she kept going, and finally - finally - her last bullet of that set plinked off the stick and buried itself in her cottage wall.

[Dove Brown]

She had to find a knife to prise the bullet out of the wall. She got it out eventually, collected the others, and went back for one last set. She rewound the sling around her fingers and focused on her shots. The rhythm was oddly soothing and she focused so tightly on placing the bullet in the sling, swinging and releasing that she stopped thinking about anything else. There was just the sling and the post, the whirr as the bullet flew, the thud as it hit the ground, and the occasional plink as one hit the stick.

When a pigeon landed on her cottage roof and crooned at her, she didn't stop to think. She slipped a bullet into her sling, leaned back more than before, swung, and let go. The bullet whirred upwards. The pigeon took off in a clatter of wings. There was a dull thwack and a puff of feathers and the pigeon's flight faltered. It cried an alarm call as it flapped one wing frantically. The other wing drooped badly. It landed on the roof again, still flapping, slid down it and half hopped, half fell off the edge.

Jarred out of her trance, Dove dropped her sling and ran forward. There was good eating on a pigeon. She pounced on it, wrapped her hands around its neck as it tried to peck her, and twisted sharply. Its alarm call cut off as she wrung its neck, though it kept jerking reflexively. Dove muttered, "Thank you for your life," in a token prayer. There was no point in angering gods unnecessarily. She grinned suddenly, flexed her sore fingers, and picked up the sling. It was already paying off.

[Sayana]

Don't forget to edit/delete your grade request. If there's anything I may have missed, please PM me and I'll be happy to look into it.

 

Dove

Skills

• Brawling: 1
• Observation: 3
• Mathematics: 1
• Negotiation: 1
• Weapon: Sling: 4
• Endurance: 3
• Hunting: 1
• Unarmed Combat: 1
• Prayer: 1

Lores

• Rabbits breed quickly and become pests
• Sling: Basic whirling techniques
• Sling: Don't hit yourself
• Sling: Only let go with one strap
• Hunting: Wringing the neck of small injured prey

Comments: Cute little thread but well played. Just as a reminder, the recommended minimum post length is 300 words so it would be good to strive for longer posts. Thanks for updating your ledger and great job overall.

Your Grader,

Sayana

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