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The meat was finished but Durbar wasn’t hungry anymore. He went to a chest that lay at the foot of his bed. From it, he retrieved his tools. From a mount on the wall, he grabbed an unfinished bow, which he had been working on for several months. He sat down in front of the fire and continued smoothing out the edges of the nearly completed staff. The weapon was cut from a piece of blackwood; from the tree that he buried his father under. For several hours, he worked diligently on his bow adding the final touches to the magnificent weapon. Finally, he was satisfied with the piece of wood. He went back to the chest and retrieved a fine silk bowstring. Such string was hard to come by in Dirka, and Durbar traded two fine bows, three quivers, and several furs for the thin string. He strung his bow with it, took his knife, and carved “Adar” in the grip of the weapon.
“Now you will hunt again, Father,” Durbar announced, with determination in his voice, and a hint of sorrow.
Bow in hand, Durbar grabbed an arrow and stepped outside to test his weapon. The bow was five feet tall, nearly as tall as he was. The dark-colored wood made it bold in appearance. Its curve was elegant; the grip was perfect for Durbar’s large hand. He notched an arrow, held the bow down, and closed his eyes listening intently. The mountain air was cold. It nipped at his face, and the wind laughed at him as it rushed by. The sun was setting in the west, which threw a deep red glow on the trees it was slipping behind. The breeze blew through his hair. He caught the sound of an animal moving in a nearby bush. Durbar opened his eyes as he raised his bow and aimed in the direction of the creature. He saw a skunk sniffing around in a large shrub. Durbar marked it but raised his aim just high of the little beast and fired his arrow with amazing speed into the trunk of the bush above the animal. Frightened, the skunk ran off as quickly as he could and Durbar retrieved his arrow. He smiled to himself and thought, I hope you are ready, Durbar.