Silver Knives and Blackened Petals (Hiatus)

Chapter 18: Books and Bows

    Charles stared at the deep blue sapphire that was embedded into the book that laid on the bed. He pulled out the lightly rusted skeleton key out of his pocket. He looked over to the book and opened it. Flipping through the pages. He then grabbed the frail poem out of his pocket and lined the page up with one of the ripped edges inside the sapphire book. The tear didn't match, but the same material that made the poem matched the book's pages. He flipped to another page then another and another. Until he reached to the last ripped page. The jagged edge of the poem matched the book's; It was the bottom half of the page. Completing the page he had read before.

My child, my child
    You use to be small and covered in fur
    But now you have none and are bare
    Your black fur now missing with only pink skin
    You no longer remember what you once were
    They have taken you from me
    But I know you're still there
    My child, my child;
    Please come back to me.
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    They stole our child.
    He once was us but now has no fur.
    They've taken him from us. They've taken him from us.
    They deserve a special place in hell.

A sentence that sent a chill down Charles's spine. It was ragged and more viciously written.
    They've taken Charles and they'll pay for every tuft of fur they had ripped from him.
He was not what he thought he was. He shivered to the thought of the beast. He looked to the door out to the hallway. Tears welled up in his eyes as he closed the book slowly then turned around. He wasn't finished searching the house for answers. Charles walked through the door, wiping his eyes quickly so Toriel and Bill didn't notice. He made his way past them and before he could take another step towards the basement Bill's deep voice spoke and stopped him. "Charles, i'm gonna teach you how to use a bow..." Charles thought in his mind almost instantly. 'But why not a gun?...'

                                    ✯✯✯

    Charles raised up a wooden longbow with the forest towards his back. It wasn't a strong bow, it was about ten to twenty pound bow. He drew it back with ease, just like Bill instructed. Charles rested it and redid it over and over and over till he got his aiming posture right. Bill handed him a wooden arrow which was hand-made with a sharp crude iron tip. "Alright nock the arrow onto the string and aim at the hay bale." Charles pulled back as he raised the bow, the crude tip directed at the middle of the bale. "And release" Bill barked. Charles did so and the arrow whisked through the air and hit the dirt in front of the bale. "Good, just a bit higher with this bow." Bill gave him another arrow. Charles aimed even higher and released the arrow, shooting past the bale and hitting the ground. "Too high" Bill gave him the last arrow and Charles adjusted the next shot. That time the arrow struck above the middle of the bale. "Good... Now go grab the arrows and repeat until you hit the bale every time you move around." Bill walked over and sat on the swinging bench on the patio. Watching Charles move around. Missing and hitting the bale over and over. Bill then stood up and walked off to the shed. Charles hadn't notice that his dad left him alone, he continued volleying arrows at the hale bale.
    Half an hour later Charles was being consistent at hitting his target, his arms were starting to ache. "Charles come here!" Bill yelled to him. Charles picked up the arrows and ran over to him. Bill had a bigger and heftier looking bow in his paw. "Alright, here is your new bow and arrows." The five arrows were visibly larger than the puny ones Charles held in his hand and the bow looked thicker with a thicker looking string. They switched and Charles pulled the hefty bow. Grunting loudly as he barely pulled half way on the bow, his arm was either too tired or he wasn't as strong. He rested and looked at his dad.
    "This thing is hard to pull." Charles said softly.
    "Good. That means you can build your strength" Bill said patting his shoulder and then held his paw out. Charles gave him the bow back. Bill held out his other paw. "Give me an arrow and stand behind me" Charles did so and stood behind Bill watching from his side. Bill aimed at the hay bale which was about 75 to 100 yards from him. He pulled and released almost instantly. The arrow cracked through the hay bale and sent dirt sputtering into the air as it struck. Charles looked at his father in disbelief. "Once you gain your strength. You will be able to do that maybe even get a stronger bow." He handed him the bow back. "Go grab the arrow" Bill walked back into the shed. Charles pulled on the bow. Grunting again, shaking his head. He jogged over to the hay bale. There was a visible path where the arrow went through. On the other side was the arrow, the arrow had splintered into several pieces when it slammed into the dirt. Excitement flowed through him.

    Charles pulled the arrow back to his max and shot the arrow. It traveled much farther than the last bow he used. After another half hour of shooting the strong bow, Bill came out with a leather quiver and ten hand crafted arrows sticking out from it. "Charles come here" Charles turned and ran to him. Bill held his hand up and motioned him to turn and grab the arrows. He sighed and ran back. Bill slung it over charles' back. Kneeled down and adjusted the strap on Charles's chest. "Pull the arrow out and shoot the bale. Repeat until I say" Bill helped Charles pull an arrow out of the quiver and nock in the bow in a smooth stride. Bill stood back and watched the forest behind them. After scanning the forest he saw the dull blue eyed creature, watching them. He tapped Charles's shoulder stopping him early and headed towards the house for the night.
Charles set the bow and the quiver beside the bed and fell onto the bed. His arms ached. The events of today raced through his mind, he thought of the books, the creature, then the poem. He twisted onto his side. The night before still bothered him, remembering his heart pounding against his chest. He slowly lost focus, falling into a deep sleep.