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"What do you think the next Mark will be?" Fiadh grunted, swinging her hunting sword and missing.
Her arm was aching and she'd only swung it a few times.
"Focus on the Now." the Hunter growled, knocking her flat and springing away, too fast for her to hit now that he was fully recovered. The limp was all but gone and he seemed strong once more. Fiadh suspected the elation of doting over Ceridwen was the medicine he needed.
She still felt twangs of jealousy whenever she saw him carrying the fuzzy bundle around, whistling to her. It was ridiculous really, given her age, but Fiadh had been the Wean for so long that she'd grown comfortable in the position and now resented being ousted.
"Your mind wanders too much to the future—focus it or you won't have one."
He leapt into one of the trees and Fiadh's heart fell a little.
Saxon was right, climbing was never her strength and she dreaded it when the Hunter forced her to follow because he knew it too. There was always judgement in his yellow gaze and though she knew he did it to make her stronger, it felt like he was asking the impossible.
"Come find me." he said from somewhere in the dark. "But remember, if I catch you I will kill you."
"What beast are you?" she panted, clambering into the trees and scanning the thick tangle of branches.
"It doesn't matter," he purred. "Just catch me before I catch you."
Her heart pounded, she'd played this game before with her brothers, it was how they trained, but they had always gone easy on her as she balanced along the branches, misjudging her leaps and resorting to going to ground where she could rely on her Long-step.
"You have a weakness," her father said, circling silently, a shadow in the gloom. "Don't think me too cruel for what I do, Pale Daughter."
He was beside her on the branch faster than she could turn to face him, pounding the hilt of his hunting sword into her side.
"Ugh!" it made her eyes water and knocked the wind from her as she unbalanced and fell, flailing for a second before her fingers caught a branch, swinging her onto it and away, just in time to avoid him as he came for her again.
"Good!" he barked. "Keep moving—no!"
Swinging blindly at him, the sword went wide and sacrificed her balance as she wobbled and listed, nearly twisting an ankle before he grabbed her by the throat of her pelt and swung her against the trunk, where she slid and tangled in the branches, coming to a jarring and painful halt against a cross-bough.
"Fool! Never act rashly!" the Hunter snarled. "You have time! Find a solid footing before making any swings or you're dead!"
"I'm not made for this!" Fiadh whined petulantly, she'd landed astride the bough and it hurt.
"Do you think a beast will care?" her father replied. "Now get up!"
Shakily she managed to gather her legs back onto the branch, feeling the ancient bark chip away beneath her nails. She knew that his harshness was born of loss, but it still hurt a little to be treated so unsympathetically now, when she'd always been exempt.
She understood this was preparation for her hunting life, but a small childish voice kept screeching in a tantrum that it was because she'd been replaced.
It was stupid to listen to, and she knew better. Since Gilgallen's death at the hands of the Bridge Beasts the Hunter had been extra tough on them all—but none more so than himself. It was self punishment for being unable to save his son, and fear that he had not prepared the others enough to avoid Gilgallen's mistake.

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Description
"What do you think the next Mark will be?" Fiadh grunted, swinging her hunting sword and missing.
Her arm was aching and she'd only swung it a few times.
"Focus on the Now." the Hunter growled, knocking her flat and springing away, too fast for her to hit now that he was fully recovered. The limp was all but gone and he seemed strong once more. Fiadh suspected the elation of doting over Ceridwen was the medicine he needed.
She still felt twangs of jealousy whenever she saw him carrying the fuzzy bundle around, whistling to her. It was ridiculous really, given her age, but Fiadh had been the Wean for so long that she'd grown comfortable in the position and now resented being ousted.
"Your mind wanders too much to the future—focus it or you won't have one."
He leapt into one of the trees and Fiadh's heart fell a little.
Saxon was right, climbing was never her strength and she dreaded it when the Hunter forced her to follow because he knew it too. There was always judgement in his yellow gaze and though she knew he did it to make her stronger, it felt like he was asking the impossible.
"Come find me." he said from somewhere in the dark. "But remember, if I catch you I will kill you."
"What beast are you?" she panted, clambering into the trees and scanning the thick tangle of branches.
"It doesn't matter," he purred. "Just catch me before I catch you."
Her heart pounded, she'd played this game before with her brothers, it was how they trained, but they had always gone easy on her as she balanced along the branches, misjudging her leaps and resorting to going to ground where she could rely on her Long-step.
"You have a weakness," her father said, circling silently, a shadow in the gloom. "Don't think me too cruel for what I do, Pale Daughter."
He was beside her on the branch faster than she could turn to face him, pounding the hilt of his hunting sword into her side.
"Ugh!" it made her eyes water and knocked the wind from her as she unbalanced and fell, flailing for a second before her fingers caught a branch, swinging her onto it and away, just in time to avoid him as he came for her again.
"Good!" he barked. "Keep moving—no!"
Swinging blindly at him, the sword went wide and sacrificed her balance as she wobbled and listed, nearly twisting an ankle before he grabbed her by the throat of her pelt and swung her against the trunk, where she slid and tangled in the branches, coming to a jarring and painful halt against a cross-bough.
"Fool! Never act rashly!" the Hunter snarled. "You have time! Find a solid footing before making any swings or you're dead!"
"I'm not made for this!" Fiadh whined petulantly, she'd landed astride the bough and it hurt.
"Do you think a beast will care?" her father replied. "Now get up!"
Shakily she managed to gather her legs back onto the branch, feeling the ancient bark chip away beneath her nails. She knew that his harshness was born of loss, but it still hurt a little to be treated so unsympathetically now, when she'd always been exempt.
She understood this was preparation for her hunting life, but a small childish voice kept screeching in a tantrum that it was because she'd been replaced.
It was stupid to listen to, and she knew better. Since Gilgallen's death at the hands of the Bridge Beasts the Hunter had been extra tough on them all—but none more so than himself. It was self punishment for being unable to save his son, and fear that he had not prepared the others enough to avoid Gilgallen's mistake.

Related art