Freya's Lesson

It would be a few years before Tyson's departure to Ashen to join the adventurer guild at the Citadel. Freya was teaching him the value of patience.

"Act too quickly and you give the advantage to your enemy," Freya explained. "Sometimes the correct and most difficult course of action is not to act. Even the greatest warriors and mages often fail to wait until the moment is right before striking out. That is a mistake you cannot afford to make."

Tyson nodded, absorbing her words and committing them to memory. But words were only part of his training. His Master also gave him a task that would prove that he had truly learned her lesson.

In one of the caves near the shores of Lake Tagota, a few miles from their camp, lived a small family of Skeevers: small, furry herbivores native to Ashen. A full meter in height, they stood upright on their hind legs, using their tails for balance and support. Their arms were short and underdeveloped, good only for digging up shallow roots or carrying small nuts back to their nests.

The first day Tyson and Freya had arrived at the camp, Tyson had noticed them scurrying and darting about on the hot sands of the beach. As the first part of her training, Freya had tasked him with bringing one of the Skeevers to her alive and unharmed.

The mission proved to be much harder than he first imagined. The Skeevers were a common food source for large carnivores, as a result, they were skittish by nature. They would flee at the sight of him, scampering off to disappear into the small cracks and crevices in the rocks surrounding the caves where they made their home.

Tyson quickly realized that he couldn't simply set a trap for one; Freya's instructions required him to capture one that came to him of its own free will. At first, Tyson had tried luring them back to the camp by leaving a trail of food, but the creatures were overly cautious and as a result, delined his offerings. Next, he tried using his magick to subdue one but they seemed to be immune to his clumsy efforts to control them.

In the end, he realized that he would have to tame one, training it to grow accustomed to his presence. So early each morning, he made his way down to the entrance of the cave, where he would sit cross-legged and practice the meditation exercises Freya was teaching him.

Tyson would go to the entrance of their cave every morning and sit motionless for hours, then calmly get up and return to the camp in the evening, only to repeat the process the next day. For the first four days, he was completely alone, but on the fifth day, the Skeevers began to show themselves. Cautious at first, they would dart out into view, taking care to hide behind the cover of rocks while peeping and then scamper past him, well beyond his reach. By the middle of the third week, they grew used to his presence and would sit and stare at him from a few meters away. Occasionally, one would let out a squealing yip in his direction to get a reaction from him or emit low quivering chirps from the back of its throat. By the fifth week one particularly curious youngling, not even as tall as his knee, came close enough to him that he was able to reach out and pet it.

After that he started to bring food to his sessions, letting a small morsel sit on his open palm. The same bold little Skeever would cautiously approach him with each time, balancing its fear against the alluring scent of the nuts wafting up from the young boy's hand. He would coo to it softly, and eventually, it would gather its courage enough to rush in and snatch the morsel away before scurrying off to the safety of its cave, chirping with excitement.

Tyson began to position himself farther from the cave during his meditations. Each day, the Skeever would come looking for him, ranging beyond the familiar borders of its territory in its quest to find him. Little by little, bit by bit, the young Skeever drew closer and closer to the camp until one day when he got up to leave, the creature began to follow him.

Tyson intentionally took soft, slow steps so as not to startle it. Moving with small steady strides so it wouldn't lose its balance, he carefully shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he led the tiny creature all the way back to his Master.

It was already dark when he arrived, his pace turning the relatively short distance from the lakeshore back to the camp into an hour's journey. There were two tents in the camp in addition to the ones he and Freya slept in; there was one for storing food and another for clothing and equipment. The tents were arranged in a semi-circle, facing inward toward the cooking fire.

Freya was sitting by the blaze waiting for him while stirring a bubbling pot of bland-smelling stew. In the summer night's heat, she had pulled back the hood of her robe and her hair was tussled not neatly braided into two pigtails at her side. In the flickering glow of the flames, his master was almost pleasant. Sometimes, Tyson thought that she only covered her face and acted cold to keep him away. She was the closest thing to family that he had and he was determined to peel away her outer layer.

Suppressing the urge to bask in his success, Tyson called out softly to her. "I have completed my mission, Master."

Freya glanced down at the young Skeever trailing into the camp behind him, visible proof that her student had fulfilled the task she had given him. Tyson followed his gaze, turning toward the tiny creature. It looked up at him and chirped expectantly. He bent down to pet it, and Freya reached out with her magic and snapped its long, thin neck.

"You have done well," she muttered with a smile as he stared in horror at the tiny body twitching at his feet. "Now toss it in the stew. These things taste better uninjured. What took you so long?"

Tyson took a moment to steel himself before tossing it into the bubbling pot. Freya must have known that Tyson would develop a fondness for the animal, the death of whom caused him grief that welled up inside. If he had been wiser, he would have foreseen this and simply viewed the animal as a tool to be used and discarded rather than become emotionally attached. The pain he felt was a reminder that his only loyalty was to his master.

Looking her square in the eyes he said, "I see that you decided to teach me two lessons today, Master."

Her only response was a wry smile. Judging by the spittle at the corner of her mouth, it almost looked as if she was more interested in eating the animal than teaching a profound lesson...