Da Bao was waiting beside the fire when Xu Hao woke.
On the ground in front of him lay a bow, six arrows and a small heap of wood shavings. The bow was pale, smoothly curved and strung with a cord that looked far too thin to hold the force stored in its limbs.
Da Bao looked exhausted and delighted.
"Finished."
Xu Hao blinked at the weapon. "You really did it overnight?"
"Before dawn."
"Did you sleep?"
"Some."
Er Bao, sitting beside the cooking pot, made a doubtful noise.
Da Bao pointed at him. "Enough."
Xu Hao picked up the bow. The grip fitted his smaller hand surprisingly well. There were no rough edges along the wood, and the limbs bent evenly when he applied a little pressure. He was impressed. It seemed unwise to say how impressed before the giant finished enjoying himself.
"Very good workmanship," he said at last.
Da Bao crossed his arms. "Of course."
"Did you make the arrows too?"
"Straightened the shafts myself. The points aren't for big game. I thought we should see whether you can hit a tree before asking you to kill anything."
"That seems sensible."
"Also," Da Bao added, "I've made the draw light enough for you."
Xu Hao glanced at his brother's arms. "Thank you for remembering that I am not built like a gatepost."
"Not yet."
"I hope never."
* * *
Their first lesson took place on a level stretch of ground well away from the shelter. Da Bao set a thick piece of bark against a dead stump and paced out a distance that Xu Hao considered insultingly short.
"Ten paces?" Xu Hao asked.
"Would you like five?"
"Ten is excellent."
Er Bao stood to one side with the dogs. Grey's leg seemed better, but Xu Hao had insisted on another day without chasing. Grey accepted the restriction with quiet patience. Little One found it outrageous and spent most of the morning staring at squirrels as though they were personal enemies.
Da Bao demonstrated the draw. He planted his feet, raised the bow, pulled the string with a smooth movement and released. The arrow struck the centre of the bark with a thud.
"Easy," he said.
Xu Hao tried to copy him. The string cut into his fingers. His right shoulder rose towards his ear, and the bow twisted in his left hand as he pulled.
"Stop," Da Bao said.
Xu Hao held the awkward position. "I'm trying."
"You're trying to fight the bow. Lower it."
Da Bao adjusted his feet, turned his elbow and placed two fingers against his shoulder blade.
"Use the muscles back here. If you pull with only your arm, your shoulder will tire before you've shot ten arrows."
Xu Hao drew again, more slowly. The movement felt wrong in a different way. He was used to writing with careful fingers, not engaging half the muscles in his back merely to launch a stick through the air.
"That's better," Er Bao said.
"Does it look better?"
"It looks as though you're less likely to strike yourself."
Xu Hao decided to take the compliment.
He released.
The arrow struck the ground three paces short of the stump.
Da Bao considered the result. "A good warning shot."
"Warning whom?"
"The grass."
The second arrow went left. The third went right. The fourth passed just above the target and vanished into the brush behind it.
Xu Hao lowered the bow. "I was under the impression that ten paces was a reasonable distance."
"It is," Da Bao said. "For a man who knows how to shoot."
"Encouraging."
Er Bao stepped over to the firing line. "You're changing your stance after every miss. Choose one position and repeat it. Otherwise you won't know whether your aim or your movement is wrong."
Xu Hao looked at the stump. He'd spent years explaining to students why changing several variables at once made an experiment useless. Apparently the lesson was less attractive when applied to himself.
"Same stance," he said. "Same draw. Same anchor point."
"Exactly."
Da Bao smiled. "And try pointing the sharp end at the target."
"Your contribution has been noted."
* * *
They recovered the arrows together.
Da Bao found the one that had passed over the stump by pushing aside a patch of brambles. Xu Hao retrieved another from the dirt and saw how badly the shaft had entered the ground. It had twisted sideways at impact, leaving the point loose. Da Bao shook his head and set it aside.
"Don't use that one until I've repaired it."
"Could it break when I shoot?"
"Possibly. That's why we're looking."
Xu Hao examined the arrows more carefully. Each had been straightened over heat, and the fletching was fastened with fine thread. They were simple tools, but not crude. His brother had worked hard enough to make them safe for a beginner, and Xu Hao was beginning to feel ashamed of every joke he'd made about the bow being easy to produce.
"Thank you," he said.
Da Bao looked up. "For the arrow?"
"For making all this. It must have taken more effort than you said."
The giant shrugged. "You're our little brother. We need you alive long enough to become troublesome."
"I believe I've already achieved the second half."
"Remarkably well."
They returned to the firing line. This time Da Bao stood behind Xu Hao, watching his shoulder rather than the target. He stopped the first two draws before the arrow left the string, corrected his elbow and made him breathe out slowly before releasing.
The next arrow missed by less than a hand's breadth.
Xu Hao grinned.
Da Bao folded his arms. "Don't celebrate the one that still missed."
"I'm celebrating measurable improvement."
"Then hit it."
The arrow after that struck the very edge of the bark.
Xu Hao stood motionless, staring at it.
"I hit something."
"A stump," Da Bao said. "Well done."
"A stationary stump. At a distance of ten paces. I believe there ought to be a ceremony."
Er Bao clapped twice. Little One barked. Sia, who had been watching a beetle, looked up in case the noise meant food.
It was not the recognition Xu Hao would have received after publishing a significant paper. He found it much more satisfying.
* * *
Er Bao suggested one further exercise before they stopped. He placed a pale stone behind the stump and asked Xu Hao to tell him exactly where an arrow had landed before anyone went forward to retrieve it. At first this seemed unnecessary. Xu Hao could see the arrow sticking out of the bark. Then Da Bao moved the target farther away, into broken light beneath the trees. Xu Hao released, watched the shaft disappear into the grass, and realised he had no idea where it had gone.
"Left of the stone," he guessed.
Er Bao shook his head. "You looked away as soon as you heard it hit."
"I was disappointed."
"Be disappointed after you know where your weapon has gone. A lost arrow can injure someone who follows you."
They walked forward together, with the dogs held back. The shaft lay on the right, half concealed beneath a fallen leaf. Xu Hao picked it up and felt foolish. On his old expeditions, a mislabeled sample could ruin weeks of work. Here an arrow lost through carelessness could do considerably worse.
For the remaining shots he watched the flight from release to landing. He called each result aloud: short, right, high, left. Sometimes he was wrong and the brothers corrected him. His accuracy hardly improved, but he stopped treating the space beyond the target as if it didn't exist.
Only then did Er Bao allow Sia to come forward and sniff the retrieved arrows. She took one carefully in her mouth and presented it to Xu Hao.
"That's useful," Da Bao said.
"It is," Xu Hao agreed, taking the shaft before she could start chewing. "Provided she doesn't decide arrows are sticks made specially for her."
Sia looked as though she considered that a reasonable interpretation.
* * *
By afternoon his fingers were sore enough that drawing the string became difficult. He tried hiding the discomfort, which worked until Da Bao caught him shaking his hand between shots.
"Enough."
"One more."
"That's what I said before I tore the skin from two fingers at your age. Father made me peel roots for a week."
Xu Hao looked at the red grooves forming across his fingertips. "That's a deeply unpleasant incentive."
"Then put the bow down."
Er Bao brought water, and Xu Hao washed his hands before wrapping the tender places. The skin wasn't broken, but another hour would have changed that. He knew the difference between productive discomfort and an injury that would stop him practising for days. Knowing it hadn't prevented him from pushing too far.
After supper, he tried drawing the bow without an arrow, moving through the position slowly enough to remember what his shoulders were doing. Da Bao saw him from across the fire.
"Not tonight."
"I'm not shooting."
"Put it down."
Xu Hao lowered it. He had learned that tone from Er Bao; it was unmistakable when borrowed by his twin.
Sia came over and placed her head in his lap. He stroked the thick fur behind her ears.
"I'm going to be useful eventually," he told her.
She licked his sore fingers.
"I was hoping for something less painful, but thank you."
Across the fire, Er Bao was repairing the broken arrow while Da Bao checked the bowstring. Both worked with the concentration of men who had survived by understanding their tools.
Xu Hao thought of the tiger. He still remembered the roar stopping his breath. A bow would not have protected him then. Not until he learned to use it, and perhaps not even after.
But an arrow had struck the stump.