Adventure of Lo 3

The eastern yard stays hushed, sawdust and old iron in the warm air. Lo keeps his eyes shut, the crossbow settled in his hands like a lesson made solid.

Lo shifts his grip a fraction, and the loaded bow answers with a faint, tidy creak. Venn’s mouth pulls into a proud half-smile.

Venn reaches over the counter and nudges the lone bolt a little nearer to Lo, an easy, approving offering. The cleared work space feels almost like a shared bench now.

Venn eases back from the counter and lifts two fingers toward the yard beyond the stall. The quiet around them deepens, as if the coopers themselves are holding still to listen.

He reaches for a thin strip of bark and flicks it into the open space past the stall. It turns once, then drifts sideways on a soft draft.

Venn gives a low grunt of approval and taps the counter twice, like a teacher marking a lesson well kept.

His tone softens, and for a moment the merchant’s hands look more like a bowyer’s than a seller’s, patient and sure.

Venn takes the bark strip back, then reaches into a hanging tray and plucks a feather-light shaving of wood. He sends it spinning into the yard with a flick of his wrist.

The shaving wobbles, dips, and slides left in a slow curl before the breeze catches it again.

He leans both palms on the counter, pride warming his old face, and nudges the loaded crossbow closer to Lo with two knuckles.

Lo studies the yard, then gives Venn a small, steady nod. The crossbow stays quiet on the counter as the old seller gathers breath in his chest.

Venn lifts one finger and turns it slowly toward the open yard, letting the breeze touch his knuckles.

On the next breath, Lo matches the timing exactly. His shoulders ease, the crossbow steadies, and the loose shaving in the yard slips through the air as if it confirms the lesson.

He reaches under the counter and sets a reed length beside a knife, then a little pouch of straight thorns wrapped in cloth.

Venn taps the cloth pouch, then looks up with a craftsman's interest, already measuring Lo's hands and reach by eye.

Venn slides the pouch back into the shade under his counter and sets the reed tube beside a little carving knife. His expression softens into the easy focus of a craftsman hearing the right kind of request.

He taps the reed once, then draws a slow line in the air with two fingers, showing the length he means to trim. The blowpipe is his work now, not a gamble.

Venn gives Lo a small, approving nod and rests one hand on the counter, waiting for Lo to settle the terms or ask for the first shape of the finished piece.

Venn takes the reed tube up again and turns it in the light, his thumb tracing an invisible channel along its length. He does not look alarmed, only interested.

He reaches under the counter and brings out a narrow wax pot and a pin vise, setting both beside the knife with a craftsman's certainty.

Venn sketches the dart head in charcoal on a scrap of hide, then adds a tiny side mark for the reservoir seam. His eyes lift to Lo, waiting for the first word on size or dose.

Venn taps the charcoal seam on the hide sketch, then flicks a glance to the wax pot as if the answer sits there in plain sight.

Venn gives a small, approving grunt and reaches for the reed tube again, already measuring the head against his thumb.

Venn dips the reed tip into the mix, then scratches a new mark beside the seam on the sketch, shortening the chamber with a practiced flick of his knife.

He presses the tube into Lo’s paw, then adds a tight bundle of matched darts beside it, each head sealed neat and dark.

Venn gives a pleased huff and taps the wax pot once more, showing Lo the finer seam where the charge will sit clean and even.

Lo keeps his paw on the blow tube, weighing its length while Venn watches from behind the counter.

Venn lifts the tube, sets one dart to the lip, and shows how little motion the loading hand needs.

He taps his own chest, then points at Lo’s shoulders, teaching him to stand loose instead of braced.

The market noise stays distant. Venn’s pride shows in the corner of his mouth as he holds the tube out for Lo to take the first practice loading.

Lo takes the tube in both paws and settles his stance. The shop noise falls away as he draws breath, calm and even.

He feeds the dart in gently, letting the feathered end bunch at the lip the way Venn showed him.

The shaft slides true. Lo lifts the tube toward the damaged post, shoulders loose instead of tight.

He blows. The dart snaps out and thuds into the wood with a dry tick.

Lo lowers the tube, then resets his grip with the dart still steady in his paw.