Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 1: Drake the Boneless

      If Drake failed to pull the string this time, he would remain an outcast forever. He would remain a lame cat whose achievement is to attract people's sympathy. He would be nothing but a mat on the floor for Bran the bully to walk over till he gets tired.

So Drake pulled the string of his bow. He drew hard, aiming to reach the length of his arm. His fingers trembled relentlessly, sweat strolled down his light skin and even under the golden spread of afternoon sunlight, his teeth chattered as if he was covered in a blanket of ice. But all he could do was pull it to his wrist. Drake released the string furiously and threw the bow on the floor.

"There is no use, Alfred," he said to his arms master, "I would never be able to do any of the things other boys can."

"Yes you can, you can do it!"

"I can try," Drake sat on a chair and buried his face in his hands.

He knew what the other kids thought of him. They called him Drake the boneless behind his back, the boy born with the brittle bone who can't even wipe his own ass. They whispered it in the shadow of tall trees, sang it during the moonlight games, and passed it around during dinner at the great halls. But he often wondered, would things have turned out different if they knew his father was the Lord Protector of the realm. It wouldn't have made much difference, not to a father who never wanted a weak child.

"Stand up, Drake. You must put more effort if you want to graduate. That is life, you fall down and you stand again to pick up where you left."

Drake stood up again but he wasn't going for his bow.

"Let me make it easy for you, Alfred. My father sent you down here with me because you are not important in his court and he is ashamed of me. Stop wasting your time with me."

"You are wrong!" Alfred replied sharply.

"Oh no, my friend, you are wrong. A prince with three older brothers, who cannot fight, hunt, damn it! I can't even piss on my own for fear that my dick might fall off. I'm tired of living this way. I blame my mother.She should have drowned me when she realized I had the weak bone disease."

Alfred remained silent for a while. He was an old Ranger who many thought had passed his prime. His head has gone bald with receding grey hair. The brows on his eyes were also grey and outgrown which complimented lumpy cheeks to make him wear a sad look always. Many had taken to calling him grumpy Alfred in his father's court. Drake might be a poor judge in so many things, yet he had no doubt that Alfred could disarm ten of his father's guards and whip them bloody with a sword.

"Okay, Drake," Alfred dropped the sword in his right hand.

He walked to an old shelf at the corner of the proving room. A metal box sat atop, half eaten by cobwebs, but maintained an archaic look with its intricate designs of red paints in interwoven patterns. Alfred reached for the box and hoisted it. He dropped it on the floor and glanced at Drake who was eager to see what was in.

"I'm going to teach you the secret of fire," the old man said.

"Arggghh, Alfred!" Drake yelled, "I don't have time for this. My finals are in a few hours and you want to start again with talk of things uncanny."

"Magic can fill the gap your broken body has created if you but stop for a while and learn its ways like the other kids."

Drake cuffed the hands of his fine velvet coat and combed his dark hair to lie backwards. He picked up his bag and hurried towards the door.

"They know I can't learn, I'm sure they will omit it from my trials," he opened the door and ran outside.

"Goodluck, Drake!" Alfred shouted.