Can A Clone Feel? (A She-Ra Fanfiction) (On Hiatus)

Shoe Lips And Archery

Mercy's POV

My whole body was tense, unable to relax with the white-hot gaze of Shadow Weaver on the back of my head as I drew by the bowstring to my masked cheek, the fletching of the arrow was at the edge of my vision, but what I focused on was much farther away.  I fixed my gaze upon the foam wall of the archery range; a battered poster of a demonic looking queen was punctured to the point where I could see more wall than poster.

I didn't want to breathe; I was fed up with this relentless training.  We haven't eaten for over fifty-two hours, and we had been kidnapped, forced to walk at gunpoint, and we had been training for four hours – I adjusted my grip and tried to rid myself of the venomous thoughts.  I couldn't help but picture the misty woods of Valor, early in the morning.  I saw the tall pines and birch trees spiraling into the cloud of mist.  I could see the icy snow on the ground, the damp earth, and patches of healthy grass growing out of the snow, reaching for the sun that just peeked over the distant hills and punctured the mist.

I wanted so desperately to turn and fire this arrow through Shadow Weaver's skull, but I was unable to tear my eyes away from the target.  This would be my last shot, and I was determined to make some improvement.  I felt a slight tremor go through my forearms, the bright blue and purple bruises on my arm stung from the misfires, and I knew that if I didn't do this now I would lose my balance and misfire... again – I preferred hunting with teeth and claws, not stupid human weapons.

"Focus." Shadow Weaver warned as she saw the tremor roll through my body, and I fought the urge to shift my position, breaking the focus.

I felt a kind of shock rock through my body – painfully similar to a static shock.  I jerked my body backwards and the arrow slipped from my fingers shooting forward with all the tension I had built up – shooting across the room, and with a thwack, it landed – just off what was left of the poster-figure's rib-cage.  I groaned, body slouching as I turned from the archery range, and threw down the bow exasperatedly, tangling my hands in my hair above my temples – frustration ripped through my head like the throb of pain in my bruised forearms.

"Patience." Shadow Weaver advised, sounding as exasperated as I felt.

"I have none!" I snapped turning to her, feeling the anger build in my body. "The stress is killing me! I am to learn how to use three weapons in a place far from home, indoors away from the light – the very air here is a poison." I growled – glad Senna and Nieta were practicing in the rooms on either side of me, unable to see my frustration though I didn't doubt that they could smell it.

"You will learn in time." Shadow Weaver assured. "I have trained many cadets and have my own wards who have advanced exceptionally in their lifetime here."

"But that is a lifetime.  I have been here fifty-two hours and counting.  I don't have a lifetime, I have a year to prove my worth, if I don't, you'll kill us, and take more of our land." I hissed – speaking bluntly.  Shadow Weaver fell silent and I glared at her eyes, filled with thought, pondering the truth in my words.

"We are done here." She said simply and turned away from me, gliding towards the door that lead into the small training room with the rows of weapons, and turned left towards Nieta's training range.

I turned my head away from the door and looked down at the bow that lay flat on the floor – the leather grip slick with the sweat of my palm.  I crouched down and piked it up before turning to the poster on the far wall, riddled with arrows, I still had three left in the quiver that leaned against a flat wooden bench.

I picked up the quiver in my right hand and looped the bow across my chest – walking towards the foam wall to collect my arrows.  I reached up and pulled the first out of the wall with a wrench of my left arm and moved onto the next, loading the quiver full once again.

I walked out into the training room, seeing Nieta sliding her throwing knives into the leather slots.  Senna walked out of the room on my right and set her bow and quiver on the bench.

"Did you suck too?" Senna asked, and I nodded – too tired to be sarcastic.

"Of course, I've never used a bow in my entire life.  I'm an adrenaline junkie." Okay, maybe I was awake enough to be a little sarcastic.

We were walked back to our room, and I welcomed the scratchy sheets and mattress – exhausted.

"I will be along shortly to take you to the mess hall for dinner." Shadow Weaver said curtly and I looked up from the small pillow to see her still standing in the doorway just before the doors closed in front of her; eyes flicking to each of us before the heavy metal doors closed with a groan of gears.

I lay on my back and breath in deeply, holding my arms above my face so I could examine the bruises. They made my skin swell and throbbed with a dull pain.

"Did you bruise too?" I looked over at senna who was looking over her own forearms. I nodded and we turned our arms for one another to see. Nieta had cuts on her fingers and one on her shoulder when she had pulled back her throwing knife.

We huddled against each other on Senna's bed, finding comfort in each others presence.  I was the oldest of us three but when I was with them, I felt younger, carefree – even in this place.

"What was the name of that ghost story we made up to scare the younger kids on hunting trips?" I whispered into Nieta's hair, and I felt them shake with a small chuckle.

"Amelia Andrews." Nieta smiled looking up at me. "And we got dressed up in black cloaks and used candles, holding them up to our faces to make us glow."

"Nieta, your shoe has a lip." I mumbled randomly and Nieta snickered into her hand as Senna snorted and playfully nudged me in the ribs with her elbow.  The small inside joke dated back to when we were younger.  I had helped Nieta tie her shoes in double knots and pointed out the lip of her sock over the back of her shoe.  You had to be there, I guess.

"Potato Jeremy." Senna chuckled, and I cackled.

"I have no clue what possessed you to draw a mustache on a potato."

We slowly dozed off, our words became incoherent, slurred, and senseless.  We talked about everything and nothing – reminiscing tidbits of our childhood.  We had built a cub-house called; The Mango Tango that had long ago deteriorated by the hot springs.

Slowly my thoughts turned muddled, and I turned into my body, breathing slowly in the dark slumber, feeling weightless, and unable to feel my body, the shared warmth lulling us into a deep sleep, rich with a senseless numbness – the world fell away...