Page 175 of The Sun He Buried

“This teaching style needs warmth.”

“The fire is inside.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

He points to the target. “Choose a mark.”

“The middle.”

“Smaller.”

There’s a dark knot in the wood near the center.

I fix my eyes on it.

“Keep your wrist firm. Bring the knife up. Let your shoulder send it.”

I raise my arm.

“That seems too simple.”

“You haven’t done it yet.”

Fair. I throw.

The knife turns badly, strikes the target with the side of the blade, and falls into the snow.

I start laughing.

Eirik looks at the knife.

Then at me.

The skin beside his pale-green eye creases.

“You released late,” he says.

“I hit the target.”

“The knife disagrees.”

“It touched.”

“A standard built for you.”

I retrieve it before he can.

Snow fills the edge of my boot.

Excellent.

I return to the line and hold out the knife. “Again.”

Eirik looks at my wet boot.

“You’re dressed for bed.”

“I have a cloak.”