Fishing and Hunting

“Another one!” Daphne squealed as her line jerked.

“Quiet,” the peddler muttered without looking up from his float. “You’re scaring the fish.”

Daphne sprang to her feet and began backing away from the edge as she pulled on the rod. “I think the line’s going to break!”

“It’ll hold,” Jem said. “Lucifer jute, I spun it myself.”

Atalanta glanced back. “Just don’t fall in.”

“Yes, don’t fall in,” the peddler deadpanned. “That would be tragic.”

“He’s fighting hard,” Jem said. “Easy now. Take him in real slow.”

“I thought you said the line was strong!” Daphne cried as she gave the rod another determined yank.

SNAP!

It was not the line but the pole that gave up the fight. The upper half jerked toward the lake, dragged by the struggling fish.

“No!” Daphne cried.

The taut line dragged the broken upper half towards the water. Sir Donavan caught it one-handed at the platform edge.

“Hold this.” He handed his own fishing pole to Artemis without taking his eyes off the line. 

As he rose to his feet, the fish jerked violently against the line, wrapping tightly around his hand. Donavan patiently gave it room before drawing it closer.

The fish fought all the way to the surface before Donavan lifted it from the water. Its silver scales flashed with streaks of blue and green in the afternoon sun.

He held it up in front of Daphne with a grin.

“That,” he declared, “as my grandfather used to say, is a good eatin’ fish.”

He dropped it into the bucket beside the other two.

Jem picked up the broken halves of the rod. “Too bad about your pole, though.”

The peddler let out a long sigh. He walked over, held out his own fishing pole, and gruffly shoved it toward Daphne. “You’ll do more good with it than I will.”

“Oh, no.” Daphne smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, though. I’ve caught enough fish already.”

She looked into the bucket, counting. “Besides, I promised Atalanta I’d read two hours for every fish I caught…”

Her eyes widened. “…and I’m running out of hours!”

“Yeah, right,” the peddler grumbled. “I suppose you’ll want some help with the book, let’s find some shade. Time for you to learn some numbers as well.”

“Numbers?”

“Just grab your book and your slate.”

Daphne hurried off toward the peddler.

Donavan settled back onto the platform edge, and Artemis handed back his fishing pole.

“She seems to be a nice girl,” he said.

“Thanks for helping with her.”

He directed his next words to Atalanta, who was sitting on the other side of Artemis. “Very friendly. It’s good that she’s so well protected.”

Atalanta kept her eyes on the water. “With my life.”

“I see.” His gaze drifted downward. “You are still wearing that sword.”

Her eyes shifted for a moment. “As are you.”

“Yes, but I am a warrior. It is my duty.”

“It is mine as well.”

“Your duty?”

“I protect—against bandits mostly.”

“Interesting.”

Artemis stood. “This is beginning to sound like a conversation. I’d rather fish.”

She wandered farther down the platform to fish in peace.

Donavan slid over to where Artemis had been sitting. “Bandits aren’t warriors, but it’s still interesting that a woman would choose to fight them.”

“We—I choose to protect.”

“So you take it seriously?” He turned, looking behind him. Daphne was reading with the peddler beside her. “The code—the Words of the Mothers. You believe it is for you to practice—not just read?”

“I protect the weak. No one else would protect the caravan.”

“These wagons?”

“Four wagonloads. Mostly women.”

Donavan looked at her for a long moment.

He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. His gaze returned to the lake.

His float bobbed once.

He pulled in another perch and dropped it into the bucket.

Returning to his spot, he sat but did not bait his hook. “You’ve fought.”

“Yes.”

“Killed?”

“Not often—when I’ve had to.”

“Have you ever sparred with a warrior? Not a bandit—but a knight—trained.”

“I don’t have sparring gear.”

“You have your sword. I have a blunted training sword. With armor, you’ll be safe.”

“I may cut—“

“If I get cut, that’s on me.”

He stood. “Come on. Jem and Artemis can fill the buckets. I want to see what you can do.”

Atalanta stood up from the deck, pulled the bait off the hook, and tossed it into the water.

Daphne looked up from her slate. “You’re going to fight with swords?”

She glanced down at the girl. “You were listening?”

“I listen to everything—can I watch?”

“Fight?” Jem rushed over. “You can’t.”

Jem stared at the pair. “Sir Donavan…”

He looked helplessly toward Artemis. “Talk to them.”

Artemis did not answer.

She simply set down her fishing pole and followed her sister.

Atalanta walked to the center of the deck wearing heavy leather armor that hung awkwardly on her frame.

“This is uncomfortable.” She muttered.

Donavan leaned against his practice sword. He had not changed his clothes. “You said you didn’t have armor.”

“I’ve never needed it.”

“Surely you’ve been taken by surprise—bandits, a stray arrow.”

“I have Artemis.”

Donavan looked to his right where Artemis stood with Daphne and Jem. The peddler refused to watch.

“She has a bow and quiver.”

“We protect each other.”

“I see.”

Atalanta studied him.

She had sparred before—and not only with women. Drunken soldiers. Old warriors eager to relive forgotten victories.

But a skilled knight?

Never.

Men like Donavan just didn’t cross swords with women. Not as equals.

Donavan was different. Curious.

As she measured him, she realized he was measuring her as well.

His could not move his eyes from her.

He knew he was the better swordsman, but he would not dismiss her without seeing her fight.

Is she a delusional child?

A capable swordsman?

Or something else?

If she were honest…

She wanted the answer just as badly.

She looked him over once more. “You’re not wearing any armor.”

He glanced down at his linen shirt. A smile tugged at his lips. “I won’t need it.