Chương 12: Miserable Strength Training

Words had carried farther than Ren's body could move and that… was the problem. Sure, Tessa could say the words for him. She could draw them. She could make other children repeat them with the solemn panic of a secret becoming too large for one room. Elna had kept the slate, promised Mara would look again, and watched Ren now with motherly worry. All of that was progress, yes. Still not a door barred before nightfall, much less the village preparing for the raid.

Ren sat on the bedroom rug and stared at the spoon three handspans away. The spoon lay there wooden, smooth, and innocent to anyone who had never lost a fight to cutlery. Tessa had left it behind after stealing honey from the breakfast bowl and blaming air, which was bold, unconvincing, and weirdly convenient. Her slate rested beside her knee. The warning marks still covered one corner. She had drawn around them instead of erasing them. The little road bent toward a cluster of trees.

A crooked hatch-mark stood for tracks. The goblin shape had too many teeth, which was not inaccurate in spirit, if not in anatomy. Words had opened cracks. His hands might widen them. The slate could be hidden. Adults could take it away. A whispered warning could be dismissed as Tessa frightening herself, or as children turning a baby's strange answers into a rainy-day game.

The slate could not slap a door, stop Bren's hand on a latch, knock a cup from a table, tug Tessa toward a cellar window, or send a spoon skittering across a floor at the right moment. Ren did not need to become strong in any heroic sense. Heroism was unavailable to people who still needed rescue from blankets. What he needed was reach. Good grip, balance, noise, or just simple interruption. The ability to make a small object move when the room needed one wrong sound in one right place.

Unfortunately, his hands were attached to a body that still treated crossing a rug as a major expedition. Ren stared at the spoon. The spoon did not move. Excellent. Most things that mattered did not move just because he needed them to. Doors stayed shut. Bars stayed locked. Adults left rooms. Villages waited until danger arrived loudly enough to name. If Ren wanted even one small thing to move at the right time, he needed to be able to move it himself. He needed to train his little baby body!

Until it was a powerful enough to– Well, hopefully be less baby. His right hand pressed into the rug. His left knee dragged forward. Belly scraping wool, Ren puffed warm breath against the floor. The distance to the spoon remained absurd. The spoon was optional, personally offensive, and far above his current build. He reached. Fingers brushed the handle. Victory arrived too early and ruined itself. His shoulder dipped. His face hit the rug. The spoon rolled away by a thumb's width. … Round one to cutlery.

Tessa watched from the bed with both feet tucked under her.

"You are fighting breakfast." Ren lifted his head and glared at her. She pointed at the spoon.

"It is winning." … His sister was being unhelpfully accurate. The slate shifted against her knee. Chalk dust marked her fingers. The word she had practiced that morning waited in pale scratches near the corner. Goblin. It still came out wrong from Ren's mouth. His throat could shape pieces. His tongue could drag sound closer. Language had improved, and Expression had given him more than helpless noise, but a baby's mouth remained a poorly funded instrument. Tessa could carry the word farther than he could.

That did not free him from needing to do his best training the body. He crawled again. The first day measured progress in inches. Ren dragged himself from the blanket to the spoon, from the spoon to the carved ring, from the ring to the crib rail, and from the crib rail to Tessa's dropped ribbon. Every route had its own friction, weight, and humiliation. His palms slipped. His knees burned. His back sagged whenever his focus broke. Hunger interrupted him, and sleep stalked each attempt like a patient tax collector.

Elna lifted him away from drills whenever his breathing turned rough, which saved the body and murdered momentum. Ren learned to use that too. He pushed until his arms shook, stopped before Elna intervened, breathed until the panic thinned, reviewed the route, and tried again. At first, stopping felt like defeat. His old mind hated stillness. The cellar had punished stillness, and smoke had filled the air while he could do nothing but fail to breathe.

Every motionless moment felt like surrender dressed in sensible clothing. But his body disagreed, and as he learned from the Sleeping skill, it was better to do more in short bursts and rest often than trying to persist. So he endured, going against what his adult mind saw as a 'norm'. Especially when Ren would collapse without choosing it, the next attempt would return worse. Breath came ragged. Arms trembled before the first push. His head sagged, and the route fell apart. Adult minds could be wrong too.

When he stopped on purpose, loosened his fists, and let breath settle before the body failed completely, the next crawl came back cleaner. Still pathetic. But much cleaner. [Skill Unlocked: Resting] Ren lay on his back, chest rising hard, and stared at the message with offended gratitude. Apparently lying down with resting intent enough times counted too. … Just great. The System had given him another piece for a training plan perfectly fit for a baby with the mobility of a damp potato.

He tested it at once, since indignity was no reason to ignore a tool. After the next crawl, he did not immediately drag himself after the spoon. He spread his fingers, let his shoulders drop, and breathed through the hot ache in his ribs. Tessa leaned over him, suspicious.

"What are you doing now? Did you lose your marbles at last?" Ren stared at the ceiling, with no words to deny the childish accusation. Resting was a tactical decision! It extended the time before he needed to sleep to recover! His old sensibilities appreciated that, very much. He wasn't sure he quite agreed. But even if he had to prove it to Tessa many times over, the System apparently recognized it after enough tries. [Skill Level Increased: Resting Lv. 1 -> Lv. 2] The next attempt carried him half a handspan farther before collapse. Tiny scale. Measurable result. By the second day, crawling had stopped being collapse arranged forward. Ren still moved badly, slowly, and with deep personal offense, but his body answered sooner. His hands found the floor. His knees tucked under. Breath came in patterns. Elna noticed anyway.

"You are busy again," she said from the doorway. Ren had one hand on the rug, one knee beneath him, and his face set toward the spoon with all the dignity available to a milk-fed floor creature. Tessa glanced at the slate, then at Ren.

"He is training!" Elna smiled.

"Is he now?" Tessa's mouth opened, closed, then tightened. She had learned that saying too much made adults ask for answers she did not have yet.

"He wants to get the spoon," she said instead. True, even if the truth stretched much farther. Elna came closer and crouched.

"Then let him try until he is tired. Stop before he is past tired." Tessa frowned.

"How do I know past tired?"

"When he sounds like he is fighting the room." Ren objected internally. The room had started it! Elna left them with the spoon, the slate, and a warning look that belonged to mothers across worlds. Under supervision, Ren made three clean crossings in a row without planting his face in the rug. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. [Skill Level Increased: Athletics Lv. 7 -> Lv. 8] He reached the spoon, took the handle in both hands, and lifted.

His wrists wobbled. The spoon rose half an inch. Tessa's mouth opened. Ren threw it. The motion traveled through shoulder, elbow, wrist, and pure spite. The spoon spun once, struck the rug beside Tessa's foot, and stopped. For one glorious heartbeat, neither of them moved. [Skill Unlocked: Throwing] Ren made a triumphant sound, then gloriously fell over onto his back. Right, he was totally meant to do that. Definitely. Tessa looked at the spoon, then at him.

"You threw breakfast." Yes. Elna entered a breath later.

"What happened?" Tessa held up the spoon.

"Ren is being rude!" Elna looked at him, and Ren gave her his blankest baby face, and she just shook her head. Ha, Expression had its uses! But Throwing once did not mean throwing well. A spoon thrown from belly height mostly struck the rug. A wooden ring rolled away and made Tessa laugh. A rag bundle flopped like a defeated bird. The cloth ball went where he wanted more often, which made it boring and therefore inferior. The spoon remained the superior enemy because it had weight, shape, and personal history.

Tessa kept score on her slate without erasing the warning map. Forest, road, goblin, and tracks remained in the corner, linked by their pale chalk line. Below them she drew Ren as a circle with angry lines and the spoon as a larger circle with fangs. That is inaccurate! Ren tried to say.

"Da." …was the only thing that came through. Tessa nodded gravely.

"I know. The spoon has more legs!" Memory recorded the insult for future justice. Ren learned to aim the ugly way. The first spoon hit the rug. The second spoon throw hit the rug farther away. The wooden ring rolled under the bed and gave Tessa ideas. The rag bundle went sideways, struck nothing, and looked embarrassed about it. Only after a dozen attempts did Ren manage to choose a target and miss it by less than a foot. From the crib, he finally flung the spoon hard enough to strike the rail.

It bounced back and struck his own shin. Pain flashed. His eyes filled with tears. His body prepared betrayal. Ren clamped down on the cry until it became a squeak. Tessa stared at him, then at the spoon.

"The spoon hit you back!" Round four to cutlery. Composure kept him from sobbing over the tactical counterattack. Resting let him wait until the sting faded before trying again. [Skill Level Increased: Throwing Lv. 1 -> Lv. 2] The gain felt earned, but clearly did not help much. He was still missing, just a little less. A thrown spoon could knock a cup down. A wooden ring could make noise near a door. A rag bundle could pull a goblin's eye over. Tiny objects moved by tiny hands could interrupt timing. Hopefully.

Goblins followed sound. The thought sat cold under the comedy. A spoon lacked the dignity of a weapon, but it might become the wrong sound in the right spot. Grip came next because throwing was useless if he lost the object before he could launch it. Ren started with the crib rail, then the chair rung, then Bren's thumb when Bren made the mistake of offering it. Elna's shawl taught him fabric shifted. Tessa's braid taught him pulling produced immediate political consequences. The first pull-up lasted one breath.

The second lasted two. On the third, balance arrived too late, made noise, and left before anyone could rely on it. Bren enjoyed the thumb drills far too much.

"You have a strong grip, little spark," he said, letting Ren clutch one broad finger. Ren's arms shook from shoulder to wrist. Strong was too generous! He was barely holding on. The first time he pulled himself up on Bren's thumb and held long enough to see over the edge of the table, the world opened by six inches. Six inches revealed the knife shelf, the water cup, the slate, the latch cord near the back door, and Bren's axe leaning inside the threshold. Six inches could change a plan. His arms gave out.

Bren caught him.

"Got you," Bren said. [Strength +1] Ren hung in Bren's hands, exhausted and bright with the gain. A stronger infant was still an infant, but reach changed things. Grip changed things. Height changed things. He could reach a target faster, hold a rail longer, and throw a spoon across part of a room. Small scale. Measurable results. The next few days settled into short, managed cycles because Elna refused to allow anything else.

Ren crawled, threw, rested, slept, pulled up, failed, and rested again, but the work only stayed interesting when it changed the shape of a plan. Between drills, the warning chain kept breathing. Elna did not announce a plan, but she stopped treating the slate like Tessa's private worry. She kept it near the hearth, looked at it when she thought Ren was asleep, and asked Tessa to draw the same shapes again on fresh bark. Door. Window. Hatchet. Road. Forest. Tracks.

Ren answered when she tested him, though only when she touched the pieces he knew or understood. That helped more than any shouted warning would have. Elna trusted patterns. She trusted repeated answers. She trusted the way Tessa went pale at the same places and the way Ren stayed still when a question tried to force certainty. Bren noticed the back bar being checked more often and began checking it himself. He said the frame had swollen with rain and he will replace it soon.

Ren accepted the lie since it put Bren's hand on the latch twice a day. And then, apparently the story had grown legs. Ren heard the child before he saw him: a sharp, carrying voice beyond the road-facing window, half-whispering with the confidence of someone who had never successfully whispered in his life.

"–and Tessa's baby brother knows weird things," the boy said.

"He slaps for yes. He knows doors too!" Tessa, who had been pretending not to listen, went red to the ears. Ren turned his head toward the window. The voice outside continued, louder now.

"My ma says babies do not know doors from buckets, but this one does. Corin said he saw. Lysa said the baby only answers proper questions, but Lysa says everything proper!"

"Niko," Tessa hissed under her breath. Ren looked at her. She crouched beside him, guilty and furious in equal measure.

"Niko Fen. He talks too much." Outside, Niko Fen proved the accusation by adding, "I bet he knows where moon moths sleep!" Tessa slapped both hands over her face. Ren considered several possible doctrines. First: children were terrible at secrecy. Second: children were excellent at distribution. Third: Niko Fen was a walking bell with muddy shoes. He did not like it, but he could use it.

His thoughts got interrupted when Mara came back for a 'check up', but she had no bitterleaf ready for Ren's nose and no thornmoss for his gums. Elna had sent for her because of the slate. Ren caught only pieces from the hearth.

"Tessa drew them."

"He answers some."

"Not always."

"Watch." Mara watched. Her face did not change much, but she asked Tessa to draw the road again, then the window, then the marks for tracks. She asked Elna when the back bar had last been checked. She asked whether Bren had seen fresh prints near the western ditch after rain. When she left, she took the bark copy with her. No verbal promise of a sudden adult army, but it was still progress. Adults were no longer laughing when Tessa said road. Tessa heard the change too.

Ren heard it in her breathing when she sat beside the slate. She practiced the word-map in whispers while he rested, each word landing with the scrape of chalk.

"Forest. Road. Goblin. Tracks." Sometimes she stopped at goblin and looked toward the shutter. Ren slapped once when he could. Keep going. She did. On the fourth training day, Resting improved because Ren finally got it into his head to treat stillness as part of the work. Part of the work, part of the grind. Lying down was easy. Choosing not to move while the raid clock ticked beyond his reach took more effort than crawling. Ren lay beside the spoon with his chest hot and his knees aching.

The shutter clicked in a faint draft. The sound pulled at memory, but he kept his hands open and his breathing slow. Elna's voice came from near the hearth.

"Rest, Ren." He stopped on purpose. [Skill Level Increased: Resting Lv. 2 -> Lv. 3] The next nap came even easier. [Skill Level Increased: Sleeping Lv. 4 -> Lv. 5] Sleeping still stole hours, but it returned Stamina, cleared the head-pressure left by Appraisal practice, and let the body repair what stubbornness damaged. The System rewarded what kept him alive. Cold little wisdom. Body conditioning rose during the miserable middle, from the constant cycles of work and recovery under strain.

[Skill Level Increased: Body Conditioning Lv. 3 -> Lv. 4] His muscles still burned, but shaking no longer ended the attempt by itself. His breath returned faster. Hunger still ambushed him, but the crash came later. If he had to reach a door, Tessa, or a thrown object before the raid, later mattered. By the fifth day, Ren could crawl from blanket to spoon, throw the spoon badly but intentionally, rest without immediate collapse, and pull up long enough to choose what to look at before falling.

Then his body reached its limit before his mind did. His fingers would not close cleanly. His thighs quivered after one crawl. His breath stayed shallow after rest. The spoon sat three handspans away, waiting in enemy territory. Tessa noticed first.

"You are not doing it right," she said. Ren tried to push up and folded. Elna came running when his breath hitched. She lifted him, checked his forehead, then his limbs, worry tightening her mouth.

"Too much, little spark. You are wearing yourself thin." Ren wanted to object. His body declined to provide supporting evidence. Elna carried him to the hearth blanket and wrapped him firmly enough that escape became theoretical. The blanket trapped his arms against his sides. His body loved the warmth, treacherous but honest. Ren looked at the spoon. Elna followed his gaze and picked it up.

"No," she said. The word struck with terrible adult authority. She set the spoon on the table, far outside operational range. Tessa looked between them.

"He will be mad."

"He can be mad while resting." Cruel. Correct. Mother. The System did not unlock a miracle for breaking himself. It did not reward resolve that ignored the body. It left him with Resting, Conditioning, Sleeping, and Elna's mortal judgment. The adult was right without needing blue text. Ren forced himself not to resume the drill the moment Elna set him down later. His fingers twitched. His knees wanted to tuck. Time was running, the raid was waiting, and smoke did not care about infant health.

He stayed still until his breath slowed. Stillness chosen before collapse was not surrender. It made the next attempt possible. The lesson sank in with all the grace of a spoon to the shin. Training worked only if he survived it. Tessa sat beside the rug that evening while Elna mended near the hearth. The spoon lay on the table, exiled but visible. Ren touched the empty rug where it had been and let his hand stay there. He would come back to it. Not now.

His body needed the stillness, and the room had gone quiet enough for other things to creep in. The shutter clicked once in the draft. Beyond it, the road waited under rain, mud, and the kind of silence that remembered feet. Ren's mouth moved before he chose it.

"Gah," he breathed. Tessa looked up. Ren did not notice at first. His eyes had gone to the shutter. The word-map sat open beside Tessa's knee, and the crooked goblin shape waited under her thumb.

"Gah-bin," Ren whispered. The sound scraped out rough and wrong, but the fear behind it was real, and increasingly gnawing at him. Tessa watched him for a long moment.

"You keep saying it," she whispered. Ren turned. She was not looking at the slate anymore. She was looking at him. Tessa touched the chalk mark beside the goblin drawing, then looked toward the shutter as if the word had made the road closer. Her voice dropped.

"Gah-bin." Ren froze. Tessa suddenly looked scared of her own mouth.

"Gah-bin," she repeated. Ren slapped the rug once. Tessa swallowed. The warning had already been given. The little messenger had spoken. Now he only hoped someone else could carry the word.