Will eyed his four targets critically. Once again, Halt had assigned him to practice shooting at the different targets randomly, keeping Will from relying on his first shot too much: it was an old Ranger exercise, but a good one.

Taking a deep breath, Will sighted down the shaft of his arrow at the first target and released, following it up with three more at the other targets. Each made a satisfying thudding noise as they slammed into the wood, every one in or near the center of the bulls eye. Will dropped his bow to his side and smiled to himself.

"You've got to shoot more than four. Odds are you won't just be facing four enemies. Same drill, but with your whole quiver."

Will jumped. You'd think that by now I'd be used to this, he thought ruefully as Halt stepped forward. The Ranger had been leaning against a tree, concealed by his gray-and-green cloak as he watched his apprentice practicing.

Will nodded and began the drill again, this time shooting all twenty-four arrows in his quiver. He was quick and efficient, changing targets with ease as he shot instinctively.

Halt nodded approval from beneath the hood of his cloak. This time around, all but two of the arrows were clustered dead center, with the last ones being just outside the inner ring. Will had distinct pride in his eyes as he looked over his handiwork.

"Well done, son," Halt said, then froze.

Had he just called Will "son"?

If he had, it certainly wasn't intentional. And Halt couldn't think of the last time he had done something like that unintentionally— the word had just slipped out. And maybe, yes, he had come to think of his young apprentice as a son—not that Halt had any experience in parenting—but surely the surge of pride and love he felt for Will was something of the paternal sort. 

But what really mattered was how Will felt about the matter, and because there was no way Halt would ever ask him. . . well, he just had to hope that Will hadn't heard his slip of the tongue. Halt may have been one of the best Rangers in the kingdom, but his skills in the realm of emotions left something to be desired.

Fortunately, Will gave no sign of noticing anything off about Halt's compliment as he gathered his arrows, replying only with a quick "Thanks."

Halt breathed a silent sigh of relief. Still, best to distract Will with something else to get his mind elsewhere. "We're running low on firewood. Get some more chopped once you're finished with the arrows."

Will nodded.

Halt shook his head and slipped inside the cabin, trying to push the incident to the back of his mind. He needed some coffee.

***

But Will had noticed Halt's slip. Had it been anybody else, he would have ignored it. Baron Arald, for one, had called Will 'son' before, as well as Sir Rodney. So had Erak; it was just a common expression.

But Halt. . . he had only ever called Will by his first name, and simply 'boy' in the early days of Will's apprenticeship. Never 'son.'

It was just a slip of the tongue, Will told himself. It didn't mean anything. And when a week passed without anything else of the sort happening, Will all but forgot about the incident.

Clang. The clash of steel on steel rang through the clearing. Will grunted as Horace's sword came down on his knives.

"Good block," Horace said. Will nodded. The two friends were working on the double knife defense that Gilan had taught them: Horace was on leave from his duty as a knight of Araluen so had decided to come visit Redmont, and he and Will both thought they could use extra practice of the defense. 

They worked for about an hour before taking a break, lounging in the grassy clearing in front of the clearing.

"How's being an official knight?" Will asked. Despite knowing he had made the right choice when he had decided to remain a Ranger, he couldn't help but wonder what his life would be like had he chosen otherwise.

Horace shrugged. "Good, I guess. I've not had too much to do, what with the treaty with the Skandians."

"Now, don't you go getting soft," Will said jokingly. "You never know when we'll be caught up in another war.

The larger boy laughed ruefully. "You may be right. Although I have gotten more time to see Cassandra--"

Will stiffened beside him. At first, Horace thought it was because he had mentioned the princess, but soon the knight realized that his friend was staring at something across the clearing.

"What is it?" Horace asked. He had learned not to doubt Ranger senses: if Will saw something, then something was almost definitely there.

"Not sure yet... stay down." Will carefully reached for his bow and nocked an arrow. His eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of motion.

There. A tree branch snapped back into place, and for an instant Will thought he saw a figure moving in the brush.

Will felt a bit more comfortable now. Only a Ranger could move like that, but Will still didn't lower his bow.

"What's happening?" Horace asked again.

"I think it's one of Halt's 'training exercises,'" Will murmured, eyes still scanning the forest.

"So we're safe then," Horace said, visibly relieved.

"I didn't say that." Will caught a glimpse of movement again and fired an arrow to the right of it. There was a small rustle, then everything was still again.

That made Will suspicious. He was scanning the area again when he heard it. The thrum of a longbow.

"Down!" Will forced Horace to the ground as he also ducked below the arrow now sprouting from the tree they had been resting on.

"What the-" Horace turned around. "That's Halt's arrow, isn't it?"

"Yes," Will replied grimly.

"But why-?" The knight's question was cut off by a gray cloaked figure emerging from the trees.

Will crossed his arms; it wasn't often that he got angry at Halt, but he felt that his teacher had crossed a line. "Halt, you could've put an arrow through us! How could you have known we'd get out of the way in time?"

Halt shrugged slightly. "I trained you to have good reflexes. I knew you'd be fine."

"But what about Horace? You didn't train him, and— no offense, Horace, but you're a lot bigger than me, and you can't move quite as fast as us."

Horace felt somewhat insulted. "I can move plenty fast—" he started, but both Rangers ignored him.

"And is whatever enemy is hiding in the bushes going to care? You've got to be more prepared." Halt arched an eyebrow at his apprentice.

"But you're not an enemy, and I don't think you'd be very happy with yourself if you stuck an arrow through either one of us." Will mirrored Halt's expression.

Horace looked between them. "Um, I should— I should probably go. I think, uh, Sir Rodney wanted to see me. Thanks for the practice, Will." The knight awkwardly stood up and grabbed his sword.

"Bye, Horace," Will said, not looking away from Halt.

"Bye." Glancing back once more, Horace left the clearing.

Halt kept his eyes level with Will's, unwilling to back down, but as Will raised his chin and stared back, something inside of Halt clenched.

Will was right. What if he and Horace had been just a bit slower? Yes, Halt wanted Will to be prepared for whatever danger would come his way, but. . . Halt didn't often admit that he was in the wrong—because generally, he was not—but this time. . .

"You're right. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, son."

Inwardly, the old Ranger cursed. He had called Will 'son' again. I'm getting old, Halt thought, not for the first time in the last couple years. Old and sentimental.

Once again, Will didn't react, but Halt thought he saw something flicker in the boy's eyes. He ignored it and resolutely pressed forward, determined to get the last word.

"Still, next time you need to be more alert. You shot one arrow, and I was already a few yards away when you did." Halt turned away, hoping that his slip-up had gone unnoticed a second time.

His hope was misplaced. Will, a broad grin creasing across his features, said in a perfectly level voice, "Okay, Dad."

Halt kept his back to Will. "Call me that again and I will put an arrow through you."

He didn't let Will see the smile on his face as well.