Chosin stared into the forest, straining to see through the bamboo growing thick around him. It was nearly useless, the world lost in a tide of perfectly straight green lines. 

Don't leave the path.

His mother's words played in his head, looping over and over. 

Don't leave the path, Chosin. You will get lost if you do. You will be eaten by a tiger.

Her certainty always rankled him. How did she know he'd get lost? Or eaten by a tiger for that matter. It made him itch to prove himself. But Chosin was a dutiful son who respected his mother, so he never gave in to the urge to scratch said itch.

And yet...the scream had come from off the path.

Chosin stood at the very edge of the dirt before it gave way to the mulch of the forest floor, hand clutching the handle of the small knife at his side. A gift from his father. Something his father had told him to treat with care and respect.

A blade is never a toy. Always a tool. It will do what you bid and nothing more. If you injure someone or yourself, the fault is yours and yours alone, my son.

Those were some of his father's last words to him before he'd left, and Chosin always remembered them and the gravity with which his father had said them. So the knife stayed in its sheath and Chosin stayed on the path.

Chosin held his breath, waiting. Listening.

Another scream ripped through the still air. This one was worse than the last. High and panicked, keening through the air with a note that twisted his heart and then his stomach.

When someone needs help and you can help them, do so. Small kindnesses turn into large ones.

Now it was his mother's voice that chimed in his head. Chosin frowned, brow wrinkling with indecision. Would his mother want him to try and help the screamer, or would she be angry he had broken one of her very few rules?

A third scream shattered through the tranquil bamboo, and Chosin was running before he'd made the conscious decision to do so. He couldn't help it. The desperation in that sound was just like the sound a rabbit makes when it was caught but not killed in a snare. Chosin hated that sound. It turned his stomach, making him feel like the animal was crying and begging for him to spare it. 

He'd let far more rabbits go because of that than he'd ever admit to anyone. He didn't mind hunting them and killing them. He didn't mind when they were already dead in the trap. But when they were alive and unable to fight back, begging for mercy, it didn't sit well with him.

The bamboo whipped past him, Chosin leaping brush and rocks, skirting thickets and always, always straining his ears for another scream. The sound would lead him. It would keep him from getting lost, even though he wasn't on the path.

He'd left the path!

Something thrilled through him, but he didn't have the time to decide if it was fear or excitement. A water deer buck with a doe startled and screamed at him as he passed, but Chosin was past it and gone before it could decide he was a threat. Other, smaller animals skittered out of his way, leaving nothing but the barest rustle of grass or leaves to prove they were ever there.

Bamboo stalks flew past him, Chosin reveling in the stretch and push of muscles. Of the steady hush of breath in his lungs. He had always loved running. Running was the same thing as freedom.

Suddenly, the forest ended, spitting Chosin out into a field of lush grass dotted with pink, white and yellow flowers. 

All together, it was entirely too pretty a place for the scene that met his eyes. 

A young woman was being chased by three men. Her dress was torn and her hair was wild, blood trickling down the side of her face. Blood stained the cloth of her short jacket. Chosin slid to a halt just at the edge of the bamboo, eyes wide, breath hitching.

She was Sorveti, judging by her pale skin, black hair and matching eyes. Her dress was cotton dyed pale blue and green. Her hair had been torn out of its elaborate braids to tumble in a glossy sheet down to her hips. 

The men were not Sorveti. Judging by their furs and golden-bronze skin, they were Khana raiders. Men from the country just south of Sorveti, here to raid villages for valuables and people.

People like this girl.

After a moment, Chosin realized they weren't chasing her. They were hunting her. Playing with her. They had spread out in a triangular formation, making sure she could never leave the center formed between them. She whimpered, twisting and turning in an effort to keep an eye on each man.

The one farthest from Chosin barked something in their guttural language. The others laughed and stopped moving, watching as the other man stalked forward. Their leader. The woman stood with her chin high and fists clenched, ready to fight even as she shook hard enough Chosin could see it.

A nasty feeling was beginning to brew in his gut. They were going to hurt this girl. They were going to do something terrible to her.

Still, he stayed frozen at the edge of the bamboo forest.

He was only eleven. He was half the height and probably less than half the weight of any one of the raiders. All he had was one small knife and the training his mother had given him since he was five.

Courage is the most important virtue. His father's words echoed in his blood. It allows for all others. A man without courage is a man without virtue, for both of your peoples.

Courage is what allows us to be kind, his mother corrected gently. It is what allows us to be greater than we are.

Be greater.

Chosin took a deep breath and carefully withdrew his knife from its sheath, flinching at the quiet whisper as it slid into his hand. The wind rustled the bamboo and the grass, encouraging him. So Chosin sent a quick prayer to the gods of both his parents and ran into the clearing.

He didn't shout. He didn't have the presence of mind for such a thing as he sprinted toward the nearest man.

His heart thundered in his ears, blood rushing to blot everything else out. 

The man didn't turn until Chosin's knife bit into his back, right into his heart. His mother had spent a lot of time teaching him the weakest points of a person's anatomy. When the raider did turn, it was with a look of sheer surprise. His wide-spaced brown eyes met Chosin's black ones. He collapsed to his knees.

He died.

Chosin stared down at the man. The man he'd killed. 

He didn't even hear the other man running up. He knew nothing until a rock slammed into the side of his face and he went sprawling to the ground, light bursting behind his eyes and blood bursting in his mouth. 

In the same instant, he realized he'd been hit. It hadn't been a rock, but the man's fist.

Chosin had been hit before. In scuffles with the other village boys. By his mother when they sparred. But never had he been struck like this. So hard it made the world spin.

A scream shattered the air that he realized with woozy certainty was from the girl and was for his benefit. Then he was being lifted into the air by his throat. His feet lashed uselessly at the air, his hands gripping the man's wrists. The world beyond his attacker's face was a blur of green and blue.

Like her dress. The useless words drifted through his mind, taking up concentration better spent on getting out of his predicament.

He hammered his fists down into his attacker's elbows, but that only succeeded in getting his feet dropped to the ground. He tried again, but the raider was ready. He released one hand and blessed air poured into Chosin's lungs. Then that hand collided with the side of his face and his mind went fuzzy.

The raider was swearing at him. Chosin was pretty sure he was, anyway. Only curses could be delivered with that amount of vitriol. 

A fist to the stomach made bile race up his throat, but another strike to the face stopped it in its tracks. Chosin collapsed to his hands and knees, blood pouring from his nose, mind utterly bewildered. He couldn't do anything.

Why couldn't he do anything?

"Stop! Stop!" the girl screamed and suddenly all he could see was a field of blue.

The girl's skirt as she threw herself in front of him.

No...that was wrong. She was supposed to run. He was supposed to be saving her.

"He's just a boy," she pleaded, clear voice shaking.

The raider snarled something and pushed her out of the way. A boot connected with Chosin's ribs, accompanied by a brutal snap that poured liquid fire down his side and stole the scream right from his throat. 

His vision went red, then white before edging toward a disturbed black. 

Faint. He was going to faint.

Then, another sound wormed into his consciousness. A rhythmic thudding he couldn't place. A silvery swooshing sound followed by a wet splat. A breathless sort of sound from the man standing over him. A single, heavy thud and a snarl of words in a language he knew but only occasionally spoke.

A retreating tumble of steps, the girl picking him up, murmuring to him as she wiped the blood from his face. Above it all, Chosin heard the rabbit sounds again. The begging squeal of an animal finding itself looking upon the face of death.

A deep, vaguely familiar voice said, "No, Raider. I will not show you the mercy you do not deserve."

This was followed by a scuffle of movement, a squelching sound and a strangely wet scream.

Quiet. A soft breeze rustled the grass, sweeping cool fingers over Chosin's sweaty forehead.

Color was beginning to return to Chosin's world. A blur of tanned flesh and dark hair laced with silver hovered above him. There was a gasp, then, "Tarquinius?"

Oh. Chosin struggled to sit up, pulling away from the girl even as she admonished him to stay still.

Warm, work-roughened hands cradled his face, large fingers wiping the blood from his nose with a gentleness that made his eyes water. "Tarquin," his father said softly, picking him up. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded, biting his tongue against the pain that lanced through his temple. 

"Can you stand?"

"Ah, Abani," he murmured, then realized he was still speaking Sorveti. "Yes, Father."

Galen Vestarin carefully set his son on his feet, kneeling in front of him to peer into his bloodied, bruised face. He used his sleeve to wipe away more blood trickling from Chosin's nose. He stared at his son, then turned his head, taking in the girl and the dead men.

When he stood and walked away, Chosin swayed, all of his attention concentrated on staying upright until his father returned. Though his sight was still blurry with pain, that didn't stop him from knowing exactly which body his father decided to crouch beside.

Chosin wobbled and would have fallen if the girl hadn't grabbed his arm, steadying him.

"Sit down," she said, voice soft and lovely now it wasn't cracked through with fear.

He just shook his head and locked his knees. He watched as his father stood and walked slowly back, snagging the reins of his horse on the way. The great beast followed docilely behind, staying still when Galen dropped the reins to the ground.

Chosin tipped his head back when Galen stood before him, looking down at his son with a grave expression etched on his usually-kind face. 

"I left the path. I'm sorry." The absurd words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Galen seemed as surprised by the words as he was. His eyebrows popped up and a frown twisted his mouth. He glanced at the forest waiting behind Chosin, then returned his gaze to his son. He stayed quiet for a very long time, contemplating something.

The throbbing in Chosin's ribs was beginning to outstrip the pounding in his skull. 

"Why?"

The question caught him off guard. Left him opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish. 

His father knelt down, grey eyes serious. "Why did you leave the path, Tarquinius?"

Chosin tried to think. He tried desperately to come up with the answer that would please his father. But the pain beginning to cloud his mind left him with nothing but the truth.

"I heard her scream," he said in halting Metian, tripping over the tongue of his father's people. He pointed to the girl, who still hovered nearby. "She was screaming, so I followed the sound. I had to leave the path even though Mother said I should never do that."

"I seemed to recall that being one of Miyoung's rules." A smile might have flashed at the corner of Galen's mouth, but it was gone before Chosin could be sure he'd really seen it. His father's face was serious again when he said, "Leaving the path is dangerous. There are tigers and leopards to eat boys who don't listen. Raiders to hide in the bamboo." He stood and gestured behind him to the slaughter marring the meadow. "This was dangerous, Tarquinius. If I had been even one moment late, you would be dead."

Chosin looked down, anger suddenly grabbing him by the throat. It was unfair! Eyes burning, he bit his lip and nodded, shoving his feelings down.

"Why did you leave the path?"

Chosin blinked down at the ground. Why did his father keep asking him that?

A hand fell heavy on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Why did you leave the path, Chosin?"

Galen so rarely used his Sorveti name.

Chosin took a long breath, even as his broken ribs screamed. He did it again, using his breath to control himself. To calm himself. Then, he looked his father in the eye. "I had to leave the path, Abani. I had to because she was screaming for help and her screams took me from the path. I had to...to kill that raider because he was going to hurt her."

The girl's face was a mask of confusion as she looked back and forth between the boy and his father.

Galen stared down at his son, eyes warming with something Chosin had often seen in his mother's face.

Pride. Galen was proud of him. His father was proud of him.

He stroked a hand over Chosin's long, black hair, fingers tangling in the messy braid that kept it back from his face. Galen pulled him into a hug and Chosin latched onto him like he was the only anchor in a riptide. Burying his face against his father's stomach, Chosin finally let the tears come, though he stayed perfectly silent and still.

His father held onto him for a long time. After Chosin's tears had run out, Galen lifted first Chosin and then the girl up onto the back of his horse.

He found the path with ease, and let it lead them back home.

His mother met them in a mess of tears and shouting, clinging to Galen and Chosin by turn. Between, she offered comfort and care to the girl, who seemed to be slipping steadily toward shock. 

She scolded Chosin and then tenderly bound his ribs and cleaned his face. Then she yelled at him some more.

But when she asked why he'd broken one of her only rules, his father stopped her. Sitting on the edge of Chosin's bed, he told his wife, "Our son chose his own path. He created one were none was before and now he must forge ahead."

Miyoung fell silent at that, eyeing first her husband, then Chosin. He was proud when he could meet her dark-eyed gaze steadily. She sighed, brushing her hand through her son's black hair. "It is a dangerous thing, stepping from a known path, Chosin-ah." She gave a half-smile, turning toward her husband. "He's far too brave. Like his father."

"Mm. Like his mother." Galen caught Miyoung's hand and pressed it to his lips.

Vaguely disgusted, Chosin snuggled down into his blankets, the medicinal draught his mother had given him beginning to pull him down into sleep. His parents' voices quieted, blurring into background noise.

"He will forge his own path," Miyoung's voice floated around him. "But I fear it will take the shape of his father's."

There was a soft thump and Miyoung laughed, the sound muted. Chosin forced his eyes open just to watch his father kiss his mother gently on the mouth. He shut them again, wishing they would stop doing that.

"His life is his own, Miyoung-ah," he said, holding his wife close. "This is just the first step into the adventure. His path will take it's own shape. It won't mimic mine."

Chosin pondered that with his foggy brain. A path like his father's?

The path of a soldier?

Chosin shook his head, drifting farther down into sleep. He didn't think he was quite that brave.