Training Trip - Who Is He?

Looking at the large hill near the village, you can spot the figure of a young girl with scales on her legs, hooves instead of feet, and antlers on her head, descending at an unusually slow pace. Her eyes are closed, and a thoughtful, worried expression is etched across her beautiful face.

And, of course, that's me—who else fits that description around here?

But Phoebe, why are you so worried? Weeell... Oh boy, what's the least offensive way to put this?

ThatfreakingmountaingoblinwhomIhadthedispleasureofcallingmygrandmotherdecideditwastimetocrankupmytrainingbecauseIwasgettingtoocomfortableandthatdecreptbitc- Too fast, too fast. Calm down. Deep breaths. Deep breaths...

We're going on a camping trip! So much fun!

What? My eyes are twitching? No? You must be seeing things, right?

This throbbing vein on my forehead? Are you alright? You're seeing too many things.

And the best part? We're leaving right away, which gave me just over an hour to get everything done. That was half an hour ago, and now I have only 30 minutes left to say my goodbyes.

...

By the way, it's 7 a.m. right now—six hours earlier than when I usually come down here. Not that this is my first time being out so early, but it's definitely not common. Even though it's relatively early, plenty of people are already up and about, tending to their daily tasks. The day starts early around here.

Walking along the dirt streets of the village, I see people busy preparing for their day. Women carry baskets of clothes to wash at the river, while men gather their gear to head into the forest. These aren't the main hunters of the tribe, though; the elite hunters leave much earlier. The ones left behind are usually the younger men or those unable to embark on long hunting trips. In fact, the main hunting group left a few days ago and won't return for several weeks.

Come to think of it, I'm about to experience something similar: being forced to leave home for a long time due to some greater force. For the hunters, it's the need to gather food and materials. For me? The whims of a crazy goblin. I feel like I can finally relate to the older hunters and their irritated expressions before heading out.

"Brat? What are you doing up so early?"

As I walk, I'm interrupted by a male voice coming from my left. Turning my head, I see a broad-shouldered man sitting on the ground with his back against a wall. Well, maybe "broad-shouldered" is a stretch—he's on the shorter side compared to the other men in the tribe.

His dark brown hair is cut short, except for a long strand flowing past his left ear down to his jawline, tied with a strange bone ornament. His eyes are a warm yellow-brown, and, like most men in the tribe, he's shirtless, save for a necklace of teeth hanging around his neck. His muscular body is marked by scars of various sizes.

In one hand, he holds a knife; in the other, a small wooden carving. Scattered around him are several tools, additional pieces of wood, and a handful of stone and bone arrowheads.

"Fuli, slacking off as usual," I say coldly after observing him for a moment.

"The nerve of this girl!" he retorts, feigning offense. "I'm up so early this time, working hard, and this is the thanks I get? People just don't appreciate a man's hard labor anymore!"

"Hard labor?" I scoff, my face twisting in disgust. "Don't make me laugh. I know exactly how long it takes to make an arrowhead. If you were working as hard as you claim, you'd have at least ten done by now. But I only see six. And what's this?"

My voice rises as I recognize one of the items near him.

"I'm sure I saw this one yesterday!"

I jab an accusing finger in his direction, raising my voice even further.

"You're just sitting here ogling the women who pass by. Admit it!"

"Slander! I would never do such a thing!" he cries out in mock indignation. "And besides, hardly any women have passed by here this morning."

"So you admit you've been paying attention to that?"

"Guh-!"

Caught off guard by my response, Fuli falters, dropping the things in his hands, scattering his other tools all over the ground, and then scrambling awkwardly to gather them up again.

Checkmate.

After fumbling to reorganize his belongings—and failing miserably—he finally looks back at me, stretching out a hand while scratching his head with the other.

"Mind helping me up?"

"And give you one more excuse to slack off? No way," I reply. But despite my words, I extend my hand anyway.

After pulling himself up, he loses his balance for a moment, nearly face-planting into the dirt before catching himself against the wall. Watching this, I crouch down to pick something up from the ground.

"By now, shouldn't you be used to standing up with that thing in your hand?"

He just smiles as he takes the crutch from me. Standing upright, his right leg—or rather, the absence of it—becomes even more apparent.

I guess this is a good point to explain how I came to know this rather depressing figure.

This man is Fuli, once one of the most promising hunters in the tribe—or at least, he used to be, before losing his leg three years ago. Back then, he was one of the most popular men in the tribe. Families lined up to have their daughters marry him. After all, who wouldn't want one of the best hunters as a son-in-law?

But then came the accident during a hunt. Losing his leg meant losing everything, as nobody cared for him anymore. Don't get me wrong—many hunters in the tribe bear scars or disabilities. Some lose an eye or an ear, even an arm. But hey, you can still hunt with just one arm. It's harder, sure, but it's doable. With just one leg, though? Ha, good luck navigating the uneven terrain of the forest.

Here's the thing you need to understand: in this tribe, people are trained from childhood to excel at a specific role for life. Now imagine training your entire life for a purpose, only to find yourself completely incapable of fulfilling it as an adult. Not everyone can start over and learn a new trade from scratch.

For months, Fuli wandered aimlessly through the tribe, eating whatever scraps he could get his hands on. Having lost all purpose, he abandoned even the instinct for self-preservation. Picture a filthy man with his face hidden beneath unkempt hair and that beard—oh, that beard. Easily the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life.

This didn't help his standing in the tribe. Over time, people began to treat him as a pariah. About a year and a half ago, some even started to harass him in the streets.

And that's where I come into this story. I'd seen him a few times during my visits to the village, but I never paid him much attention—until one day, I found him nearly dead by the river.

Against all my instincts and better judgment, I decided to help him. I even tried to bathe him, but that damned beard was so filthy it practically created a barrier against the water.

No problem, though—nothing a razor-sharp knife millimeters from his throat couldn't fix.

What? I'm talking about shaving his beard, obviously. Or did you think I meant something else? You think I have scissors just lying around here? On that note, do you know how hard it is to cut hair with a knife?

Now, imagine my surprise when I found a young man beneath all that filth.

After cleaning him up, I made a wooden crutch for him. It wasn't anything fancy—I'm no craftsman—but I'd seen a few before. Losing limbs isn't exactly uncommon in the army.

Then came the tricky part: figuring out what he could do with his life. In the end, he started carving and selling small wooden and stone items. It's not much, but it's better than aimlessly wandering the streets, right? After helping him get back on track, we became friends. Sort of.

I didn't come away empty-handed from this arrangement either. Fuli was one of the best hunters in the tribe, and his skill with a bow is nothing short of exceptional. So, I started learning archery from him. Over time, after spending so much time together, we became... well, friends. Kind of.

"But tell me, what are you doing down here so early? It's not like you," he asks again once he steadies himself.

"I came to say goodbye to a few people. I'll be away for a while, and disappearing without a word wouldn't go over well," I reply, turning to leave.

"Oh, you came to say goodbye to me? How sweet."

"Who are you again?"

"Charmed."

With that final exchange, I pick up my pace. I've already wasted too much time here.

"Hey, brat, catch!" I hear Fuli's voice behind me, and I sense something flying my way. Instinctively, I reach out to grab it, and when I lift it to examine the object, I see it's a small, unfinished wooden wolf figure with many rough edges.

"This is..."

"I'll want it back, so take care of it," he says casually before turning in the opposite direction.

"See you around, then."

I resume my walk, studying the small figurine. You might not know this, but these statuettes are a tradition in the tribe. A person carves a figure and gives it to someone else. A bird symbolizes a proposal of marriage. A boar wishes abundance for a friend's family. A wolf signifies friendship and protection during a hunt.

When you receive one, you're expected to finish carving it, and depending on how you complete it, you either accept or reject the giver's intentions. With that thought in mind, I carefully tuck the figurine into my bag and continue on my way.

"That guy, always giving me more work to do."

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