((First off, this has nothing to do with LU whatsoever.  For those who don't know already, I'm plotting an actual LU fanfic and this is my attempted exercise at rekindling my talents for writing.  It may not be up to par with my expected abilities, but I've really felt inspired to try my hand at something like this again.  I'm rusty, though.  This is based on something completely irrelevent to this board (hence why it's in the random section), but not much needs to be known to read it.  To make things simple, Eben is a Vulmane (wolf race).  Enjoy!..?))


It's been six years.  This should be simple by now.  Really, you're not a pup any more, Eben...

Eben's attention was sharpened to a dangerous point.  His focus had been locked in his task for what seemed an insurmountable expanse of time, and the unforgiving midday heat at his backside served as the only poignant reminder that his efforts were taking place outdoors.  What those efforts consisted of were not altogether foreign to the Vulmane youth, though it was somewhat unfamiliar territory.  The crossbow, traditional in all its ways, had been progressing smoothly enough over the course of the afternoon.  However, the engineering traits Eben had carried over from his youth spoke loudly to him, proclaiming that everything he had been working for since the sun's early rise all came down to a few final modifications.  A stray bead of sweat escaped the natural absorbency of his fur and coursed an erratic path to the edge of his brow, effectively reminding Eben how relieved he was that his gray coloring fought off the heat much better than his darker furred brethren.

He captured a chance to pause, almost mechanically utilizing his free wrist to wipe along his forehead while keeping his opposite fingers steadfast on the delicate turning rod.  The thought of losing his composure rose higher on his list of possible outcomes, creeping dangerously close to throwing his arms up in frustration, but his duty for technical aptitude won in the end.  The hushed symphony of unseen gears sliding into position both calmed and excited him, and although his fingers were beyond the point of cramping, he could sense that-

Click.  Ah, good.  With the final counterbalance in place and the taut string locked, a well-deserved release of breath and the opportunity to unwind every pained muscle from his wrist on down was Eben's reward.  He was half obliged to drop to his knees, and he racked his brain for a reason why he had not included a chair for his task, but by this time only the view of his successfully finished product was what mattered.  The crossbow, meant for use in a single hand, was no larger than a common water pot and although it was light enough to be conveniently whisked around, he added caution to his motions in case a few minor mechanical errors were awaiting a chance to surface; though they never did, and so Eben raised the miniature projectile launcher high into the air, shutting an eye from the glint across the weapon's steel prod that followed.  Within the last three years that he had begun tinkering with the workings of traditional long range weaponry, he estimated this latest creation as twelfth in line as far as successes were measured.  The concealable unit would have made a fine addition to his already bustling catalog if it had not been promised to another.

"Is it really done?"  A boyish voice chimed inquisitively as feet shuffled near the crafter.

"Mmhmm, you made it here just in time, Thaniel." Eben delighted in holding his creation by the handgrip a bit longer, subsequently wiping away any remaining wood chips.  "I thought you had some chores to do.  Something with the cows, I heard?  Your mom know about this?"  Although his voice held a joking inflection only readable by adults, part of him wanted a straight answer from the human child.

"I got so excited that I did everything as fast as I could, I swear!  And 'sides, I can't wait to show this to my brothers.  They're gonna be so jealous," Thaniel exclaimed with a lack of subtlety.

Wonder if this is what I was like back when I got my hands on 'it'.. "You really think so, huh.  Well, I hope this proves that a Vulmane can make a crossbow just as good as what those Varanjar merchants bring up here."  Eben relinquished his pride, almost regrettably holding out the weapon for the boy's taking.  "Go on.  It's yours now.  And don't forget these."  Added to the gift was a satchel of blunt ammunition, which the youth quickly snatched away.  Eben dismissed the gesture under the pretenses of adolescent enthusiasm; a crossbow was only as good as its bolts, after all.

With a trailing string of thanks and a rushed farewell, the wolf found himself alone to his thoughts faster than had been anticipated.  Would that one have pleased you, Dora?  He was unable to stifle the following chuckle, knowing full well that no crossbow in the world could ever appease that boisterous fox woman; as much as remaining in this quaint town of Three Rivers any longer would satisfy his urge to continue traveling toward the coast.  With that much in mind, Eben could no longer identify any other goodbyes that were necessary.  He held no personal conviction to the town, simply viewed as yet another short-lived adventurer through the disguised eyes of its residents, and that was as much that one of his caliber could hope to expect.  Eben perused over the few memories created over the past few days as he equipped an array of weaponry to his person: two average bolt launchers at the back of his waist, an intimidating arbalest against his backside, and a single shot mini-launcher of his own design placed firmly above his ankle; all were soundly tied with leather strapping and buckles, sharing space with a pair of classic short swords, one at either hip.  It was true that Eben had never grasped the meaning of overkill.

Okay, so... The determined wolf sucked in the last breath of the afternoon air, his nostrils invaded with a mixed sensation of wood, wheat, and hard labor.  Westward, once again.