I went to the market today, sold a few leathers. It only put a small dent in my full stock, but a dent is a dent I suppose, and I got a good few coins out of it. I also sold some fish (catfish and dace) which I had caught yesterday and kept alive in a bucket like my father used to do. Overall, it was a profitable venture, and it's likely I'll continue to attend and sell my wares in the future.
But as I was standing there, talking to customers and selling my leathers, I was reminded of a time long ago, when I would attend the market in Bree with my grandfather (it must be something about the Yuletide season that keeps bringing back these old memories - I'm not normally this reflective). The sights, smells, sounds, and crowds of the big city... even back then I feared and disliked them, but I would join my grandfather on his bi-weekly trip because he would always, without fail, buy me something I wanted.
I recall one time I got a toy soldier, but he was chewed up by Barney (our dog at the time) when I left him on the floor later that evening. Another time I got a knife, which I broke trying to cut open a rock I thought might have a crystal inside. Still another time I got a low-quality flute, but when I got home I realized I didn't actually know how to play the flute, so out of frustration I buried it in the yard. A few days later Barney dug it up and chewed it pretty extensively.
Then, one of the last times I went to the market with him before he died, my grandfather bought me a bow, and a quiver with a few arrows. I was ecstatic, because I always dreamed of being a hunter, and the only thing I knew about being a hunter was that they always carried around a bow. So grandfather finished his shopping and took me back to Combe, and immediately I got to work practicing my shot.
At first I tried my hand at shooting squirrels and birds out of the trees near our house. I was rather good at it, having just picked it up, but my parents weren't particularly happy with me when I brought in my yield at the end of the day (three birds and two squirrels for a few hours' work, I recall), so I thought maybe I should start with something a little less gruesome to practice my aim: apples!
As soon as possible the next day, I got Ellie to take me to the market in Combe to buy a crate of apples. I spent all of my money on them, and Ellie thought me mad. But, of course, I knew exactly what I was doing: I was going to be a hunter one day, and you have to spend money to make money.
I placed apples all around the area of our house. One on a big rock, another on another big rock, one in a tree, another in another tree, you get the idea. And each, one by one, I shot with an arrow. Then, after each apple was shot once, I set them back up and did it again. And again, and again. I think by the end of this ordeal, I had shot each apple five times, and each one was a shell of their former selves.
But I had put aside one apple, for an especially amazing trick. Ellie was watching me throughout most of the day, and had seen the natural skill I had with the bow and arrow. So I took the last, perfectly intact apple, and I dared her to let me shoot it off her head.
Initially she refused, but she eventually gave way, after a strangely small amount of time. I think she expected it at some point, and she was getting herself ready, mentally. And now she went and stood on one of the large rocks, and placed the apple on her head. She closed her eyes and waited for me to shoot.
It took me about a minute to perfect the aim. I was rather nervous, but I had to keep a steady hand, so I had to calm myself down. After all, it was my idea. Suddenly, as if I surprised myself, I released the string, and the arrow went flying, and shot the apple clean off of Ellie's head. I laughed, she cried. Overall, it was a good time.
Soon afterwards, my grandfather started his downward spiral in health. He died a month or two later at a ripe old age, and he did live long enough to see me break the bow, too. I was curious how far back I could pull the string without breaking it, and eventually I broke it. Unfortunately, afterwards, my parents wouldn't buy me a new one, so I went without bow for the next few years.
My second bow I made myself during my apprenticeship in Bree (which I hated), and that's still the bow I use today. I did accidentally break it once (I had a run-in with a rather excited boar), but I was able to repair it with my unimpressive woodworking expertise.
