lassofdunbroch:

   -  Merida rode up next to the archery range, pulling the reins up short before she got too close. The green field, targets, and rows and rows of archers were just what she needed, a reminder of home. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she missed the Highlands terribly… The lochs and lush forests, the people, her family. She missed it all, and this training field was helping her cope with being gone.

  There was only one problem. None of these archers were very good. She had been told that these were mostly new recruits, being trained by the general’s son, Captain Li Shang. Or something like that. Even though they might be new recruits, shouldn’t they ken how to nock an arrow? Lads in Dunbroch were taught to fight before they learned to talk. Even for her, a lass, although it wasn’t as common, shooting a bow was second nature. It was an extension of herself.

  Shaking her head, chuckling at the poor attempts of the soldiers in front of her, she dismounted from the horse, patting it gently and handing the reins to her escort, who had just caught up. “If ye do nae mind, I think I’m goin’ tae show the lads how it’s done.” A mischievous grin found its way onto her face as she approached the young man nearest her, at the end of the line of archers. The wee lamb was having trouble nocking the arrow.

  She smirked, fingering her quiver which hung at her waist, and wrapping a hand around her bow, which hung around her chest and shoulders. Removing it in one swift and well-practiced move, she sauntered up to the lad, taking a place right behind his shoulder. She was willing to do a service to the Chinese Emperor. She was going to teach this laddie how to shoot.

  “Havin’ trouble, are we?” She began, speaking in the native tongue. Her mother had forced her to learn it, and while she wasn’t extremely proficient, she could make herself understood and keep up a semi-intense conversation. She just hoped her accent wouldn’t make it too hard to understand.

Gratefully, Ping opened his mouth as he turned to answer the voice…and stopped.  That is, his mouth stayed wide open but no sound came out.  The girl who’d addressed him was a foreigner - that much was clear from her speech, face and dress - but more to the point, she was a girl.  Holding a bow.  Talking to Ping, which meant the young recruit better come up with an answer quick.  "You - you can shoot?“ blurted Ping, and frowned, because he’d meant to say Yes, I am!  

His face flushed as Ping rapidly backtracked, realizing how that must sound.  "Sorry, I mean obviously you know how to - um.  It’s just that I’ve never seen an, uh, I’ve never known a woman who could use weapons.”  The words might have come from any gawky young man, but only this one would have grinned at the strange girl suddenly in admiration - and hope.  "I wish I did.  I’m Hua Ping,“ he hurried on, "and I hope I didn’t offend you.”

Ping’s insides twisted, as much from embarrassment as in real pain.  A brief shadow crossed the would-be soldier’s face, but he bit the inside of his cheek and ignored the cramps.  Clearing his throat, Ping deepened his voice a little, well-aware that it always rose in pitch when he had started to babble.  "But - yeah, I never really held a bow and arrow before I came here.“  The recruit looked down at the weapons in his hands.  Just by holding them Ping made them seem pathetic and unwieldy - like Ping himself.  "And by really, I mean never.”

He blinked, hard.  It was a dry day, that was all.  Even if Ping had been feeling sorry for himself - which he wasn’t! - who could blame him?  He tried his hardest.  He pushed himself farther and wanted to succeed more than anyone else in camp, but what was the use?  Every passing day was another reminder of what he was lacking: strength and discipline.  Ping blinked again, and was relieved when his eyes remained dry.

“Could you help me?” he asked meekly.