Breathe

Chapter 33 - Conflicts

 A few weeks passed and after we moved our things from the cottage, we were able to quickly settle down in our stone home. Though the room was smaller, we seemed to make it work. We settled for only having one meal together a day and we made a strict bathroom schedule in the mornings to speed things up. The fact that we had food and water at our fingertips was something that took little time to get used to; I'm sure that after these past few weeks, Dani has at least gained another five pounds—what she claimed to be "entirely muscle weight"—and I was sure to tell her that. Of course, she was the one who initially asked, so it wasn't as though I was trying to reprimand her.

Since we had a whole wing dedicated to training, after school, Newvy began to train me. Though it initially began as something light to get me used to the training equipment, since it has been several weeks, he has increased the strength of it and often times, I would go back to the dorm sore. However, I would like to believe that after all those days and nights of external pain, I have grown to be more accustomed to it. I'm sure I'm simply imagining it, but the thought of it at least gets me through his routines. However, his demands were still detrimental to my mood and ability.

"Alastair, put your weight on your back foot," I could hear him say. Then, with a slightly chiding tone, he asked, "Are you aiming for the bag?"

Letting my mood get the better of me, I hissed back, "I don't know, what does it look like?"

But as always, he stayed relaxed... but not without throwing a few words back. "You look as if you're trying to hit the air."

After a few rounds at it, it was time for a break. I sat down on the bench and Newvy sat next to me with a towel and bottle of water in hand. Ushering it onto me, I gladly took it and chugged down half the bottle. Feeling refreshed, I let out a sigh.

"You're doing better," Newvy said.

"Am I actually?" I questioned in slight disbelief, glancing at the dark-haired man.

He nodded. "Better than before. You're at least proficient."

Laughing, I dared to ask, "Are you saying I was less than proficient before?"

He didn't respond. Near us, I heard someone chuckle. Looking up, I saw none other than the Commander standing in front of us. A towel was draped over her shoulders and there were pebbles of sweat on her forehead and near her stomach.

Looking at Newvy, she asked, "How is training going? It looks like he's gotten better since when I trained him."

"It is going well, but he has much to work on," he said curtly, "agility and strength are about average."

"What about dexterity? Is he still good with that?"

He shrugged. "He hasn't touched a bow or gun once since we arrived."

"Well, we just got a shipment of ammo in today, so why don't we get Adair to try it out?" she suggested and then started walking towards the archery room.

Murmuring, "Might as well," he stood up and followed behind her. Not wanting to be left sitting in my own sweat, I followed suit.

The sound of firing bows signified that we were in the right room. There was a diverse group in the room. Though I imagined that I would be the youngest in there, when I walked in, I saw a surprising number of young people—children as young as Chris—firing bows. That wasn't the most surprising part, however. At the very back, there were shooting targets—both moving and still—that people were aiming at. While others were struggling, these children were capable of shooting each and every one of them. Yes, some missed, but their hit rate was exceptionally high to the point that I was starting to have doubts within myself about my ability.