[Aylasa Caves] The Points of Stars (Training)

[Rythern]

35th Spring, 510 AV Location: The Aylasa Caves Training: Throwing Knives, Acrobatics, Wilderness Survival It rained the first day Rythern packed his things and took Aeyo with him out to the Cobalt Mountains. He had looked for Fade earlier, to let her know he'd be gone from the city a few days, but he hadn't been able to find her. Not that it mattered that much whether she knew where he was, but he'd felt like telling her anyway. He liked talking to Fade. The young man made no real plans to actually leave Syliras, but he'd been considering just living a few days in the wilderness ever since the day he'd spent with Sam in the Bronze Wood. It was surprisingly relaxing, being out in the open again. It reminded Rythern of his days traveling with the circus — a memory which, admittedly, should've been anything but relaxing, but having grown up in a world where the unfamiliar was familiar and the ordinary was the strange, Rythern had weird reactions to things. The young entertainer reached the Aylasa Caves just before the downpour began, for which he supposed he was fortunate. He dumped his backpack on the ground at one of the cave openings, led Aeyo with him inward to shelter, and sat there cross-legged (it was Rythern's favorite position sitting down) as he watched the rain. The solitude echoed around him. He didn't much like being alone, but he liked being at ease, and right now it seemed as if being alone was the only way to get that feeling. He'd been experiencing too much anxiety lately and he didn't know why. On edge. It wasn't normal for him. Dealing with it was annoying, however, so he'd made the decision to come out here. The question became, Now what. He could practice. He could always practice. Actually, Rythern never stopped practicing. It was something he'd drilled into his own psyche back when he was, what? Thirteen? Fourteen? Things he'd taught himself, routines he'd forced himself to perform. It wasn't because he'd been anything close to a serious kid. It was more like some kind of drive, something that even he didn't really understand. The circus changed things. Sure, Rythern was aware that he was ridiculously laid-back about too many things, and yet. And yet. Aeyo nudged him, shaking Rythern from his disjointed train of thought. The Vantha blinked up at the windrunner mare. Her body language was the irritated behavior she showed whenever she felt ignored. "Sorry," he said with a grin. To the rambling voice in his head he added, Get a grip on yourself. Aeyo nudged him again, and Rythern rose to his feet, drawing two knives from the pouch at his belt as he went. He could practice. He could always practice. Rythern let that sentence run circles in his head. He stared at the knives for a long time.

[Rythern]

He started with one knife, and his right arm — his better arm. As the rain fell pitter-patter just outside the cave's entrance, Rythern stood barely within the shelter of the cave, eager to be close to the outdoors without exposing to himself to the elements. It was a heavy rain. The Vantha drew his arm back and threw the knife. It gave the sharp sound of metal against stone as it clattered against the cave wall and fell to the ground. Rythern took several steps forward and retrieved it. Aeyo was further inside, watching him with large brown eyes. He hadn't bothered to draw himself a target. Should he have? He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out just how out of practice he was getting. Lately Rythern had been spending an awful lot of time playing with knives, and not a lot of time using them. Actually, it had been that way since he'd left the glare of the spotlights, but never as pronounced as now. It was time to teach the old dog new tricks. No. "I can't," he said aloud. But a voice in his head was getting insistent. Try it. You know you want to. Rythern eyed the knife again, though this time, instead of grasping it by the handle, he held it up with his hand by the blade. He moved carefully because he wasn't used to holding knives that way — he tended to throw from the handle, unless he was fighting and there was too little time to care — but not gingerly, as the blade was not overly sharp. Form. Figure. Things to keep in mind as he threw—make sure not to let the knife drop. He drew his arm back again, then paused and lowered it. "I can't do that," he repeated to himself, leaning against the wall at his back with a quiet groan of frustration. Aeyo, who was still watching him, made a soft whinny, but Rythern was plagued with memories of a man he'd watched before. He remembered a flash, a shout of pain, blood— He tried to push that image out of his mind, but it stayed there, bright. He needed something to distract himself. Almost blindly, Rythern gritted his teeth and made the throw. This time it was decidedly shakier than his first attempt. But he'd done it. The memory had vanished from his mind as a familiar critical voice took up residence in his head, and he inspected the results of his action. Shaky. Definitely shaky. Confidence, he told himself. Not that lack of confidence was a huge problem for someone like him. His earlier paralysis dispelled, he grinned wryly to himself and tried again. It was better that time. He had to admit, throwing from the blade made him nervous. He'd avoided it during the grueling hours he'd spent training with the circus after his master lost a finger to it, and despite the numerous cuts and scars Rythern would get from accidents with other forms of practice, none of them had ever fazed him as much as the prospect of throwing from the blade. But it was so much flashier. He liked the way it looked. Rythern exhaled deeply and threw it once more.

[Rythern]

Rythern practiced for the rest of the day in a similar fashion, switching between throwing from the handle and throwing from the blade. It was tougher than he'd initially anticipated, as he had to swallow the knot of fear that still managed to creep dangerously into his throat every time he threw from the blade. That blasted memory! It was ridiculous. He'd lost count of all the injuries he'd gotten from normal knifethrowing, and yet he wasn't an emotional wreck every time he tried that. It was different, however, remembering the suffering of someone else. He wasn't sure why. It just was. And that was even more ridiculous. Rythern had survived this long because he'd been self-centered, and it wasn't going to change now. Look out for yourself if you want to live, kid. That was what the trainers had told him once. He knew it was true, and it had had a profound impact upon the way he conducted his life. He liked being around other people, but that didn't necessarily mean he cared that much about them. Then again, that was to be expected. People in freak shows didn't give a damn about one more freak. After a few hours, the Vantha switched from throwing with his right hand to throwing with his left. He needed to improve his dual wielding, and in order to do so, he needed to bring his left arm up to par; it was something he'd been working on continuously for some time now, but still, it wasn't easy. With his left hand, Rythern stuck with throwing from the handle. Blade-throwing was difficult enough with the irritating baggage he had to deal with. He was resolved to work through that, but he had to take it slow. Learning new things wasn't typically something to be rushed. He'd learned that as an acrobat. Scratch that — he'd learned that from the bruises he got as an acrobat. That actually made him laugh out loud, and he pursued his training with renewed energy. He threw once, twice, three times. Retrieved knives. Repeated it again. Rythern's judgment was quite right - his left-handed aim was terrible. But gradually, as a couple hours passed, he could focus on the natural cracks in the cave wall and hit them with slightly more reliability, and the signs of improvement gave him heart. Sometime in the evening his stomach growled, and he built a fire and sat down and ate a meager dinner. He'd given food to Aeyo as well, but for some reason she wasn't eating. She was still standing there, watching him with those serene brown eyes. "What's up, old girl?" he asked finally into the crackling fire. Aeyo took a few steps forward and nudged him gently. Rythern had traveled for many years with the spirited mare and liked to think he could communicate on a basic, instinctual level with her - but he had no idea what the nudge was supposed to mean. "I'm all right," he offered, though he was busy ignoring the sneaking suspicion that he actually wasn't. The answer seemed to satisfy Aeyo, however, and she dipped her head down to eat. Rythern just stared into the fire. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but it was still falling, and he could hear its gentle tap on the leaves outside. I'm all right.