The training grounds were quiet after sunset. His siblings had retired, their weapons sheathed, their victories recounted. He remained behind, alone.
A single pebble rolled across the dirt.
He raised the bamboo.
He inhaled.
He held.
He exhaled.
The rifle pulsed.
The pebble split.
No sound.
No motion.
No trace.
From the shadows, an elder watched. No words were spoken. No recognition given.
By morning, the pebble was gone. The elder said nothing.
But the dust remembered.