A heavy hand fell upon the young man’s shoulder, “Begin, then, as I showed you,” the grizzled man said. Finn drew back the bow, taking sight of the scout in the meadow below. “Prepare yourself. This won’t be like an elk.” Finn released the arrow and watched the fletching sail through the air before it struck the scout in the back. The man below pitched forward into the snow. The white beneath the downed scout slowly darkened. “Well done. What’s next?” Finn grabbed his pack and nodded towards the fallen man.

“Check the shot, make sure he’s finished before leaving.”

“Good. Remember, even if you’re enemies, small mercies don’t go unnoticed.” The man rubbed the worn token around his neck. He grabbed his pack and followed Finn. The two men stayed wary as they tromped through the fresh powder. The winters in Malton weren’t as forgiving as the homelands Rollo had grown up in.

They closed on the body, and Finn made to get closer; Rollo stayed him with a hand, “Now would be the time to give a chuck of a knife or handaxe if you’ve got it. Don’t need to roll the boy over and get a nasty surprise.” Finn nodded and pulled a sharp axe from his belt. He hesitated for a second before flinging it at the downed man’s back. No motion from the body. Rollo nodded, and they went over to see who decided to creep into the forbidden land. The scout seemed of average build and height, nothing of note outside of a pair of obsidian daggers that Rollo had a vague recollection of similarly styled weapons. Still, the man didn’t seem remarkable beyond his purpose of sneaking amongst the corner end of Malton. A land that had been notorious for years for being forbidden to enter (outside of the service of his rangers).

Shadows cast across the distant range. A ribbon of white peaks beneath an azure sky. A beautiful day doesn’t make a terrible deed better, but it can ease the mind for a spell. Rollo watched Finn, waiting for the weight to settle upon his shoulders. Both his deeds and name would decide his life— the Maltonsin whelp turned rangers apprentice. Not the glamorous life a duke’s son would be living, but bastards never half it has as good. Even when their fathers do recognize them.