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THE SILVER ARCHER: BOOK III Chapter 2: Return to the Temple The barracks halls were crowded and noisy with laughing, jostling young students, excitedly rushing to their dorms with crisp new folded vests and shiny weapons or carrying armloads of papers and books under their arms as they pushed their way to the library. The windows' dingy red curtains had been taken down for cleaning, flooding the dusty building with bright sunlight and raising the temperature in the halls, so the smells of sweat and damp clothing gusted to and fro on the bustling breeze. I had only been in the hall for a few minutes before I realized that my black mask and hood were alarmingly out of place in this safe, festive atmosphere, so I slid my mask down around my neck and pushed back my hood as I slowly made my way upstream toward the upstairs exit. I was not in any particular hurry to see Mistral, my mentor, but I felt uncomfortably out of place back in the study halls and dormitories of Temple Island. The memories of my night watches, sunrise skirmishes and long conversations with older fighting peers around the nightly campfire were still closer to me than the older memories of writing in the library or attending archery practice. I was different now. I had been gone less than three months, but in just those few weeks I had become much older than the carefree Temple students. I had seen what it was like to watch and learn and grow outside lecture halls; I had made friends who begged me to stay. Temple Island felt rigid and suffocating. When I finally pushed my way through the dorms and out the back exit that faced the library, I felt somewhat better, breathing the clear air. Still, I lingered, walking slowly through the grounds between the two buildings. I wasn't sure what I would say to Mistral. She had not wanted me to go fight with the Movement to begin with, and I had only heard from her once during my time there. I was not certain whether she would be pleased with my growth or frustrated with my absence. As I curled my left hand idly into a fist while I thought, my fingertips connected with the callouses that had formed on my palm over the summer - hard, sturdy spots where my Bow had slapped against my palm again and again, where the skin had torn free as I swung it with all my strength to beat off attacks, where my bare hands connected with tree bark and rocks and gravel and walls as I climbed higher to get a better view. The callouses were the proof that I had fought old enemies in new ways and not only survived, but gotten stronger and braver. What was one person's approval or disapproval compared to the lives I had touched and the smiles and hearts that had touched me? What was some temporary misunderstanding compared to the exciting missions that lay ahead in my future? I reached out with my right hand and a swirl of shimmering light leaped to life from my palm. I hadn't used my healing powers much over the last few months - that needed to change. I rested my fingertips softly against my own forehead, allowing the reassuring warmth to calm my anxious thoughts. This was just a different kind of test - to see if I could satisfy Mistral's expectations just like I had satisfied Walter's, Irvin's and Aubron's. Once the test had been passed and I had completed the Temple training, then I would unlock many years of new experiences, connections and missions. I could return to Middle Earth as an independent fighter and go back to protecting my own people. All I had to do was remember my strength and remember my purpose, and not let her cryptic communication and shifting expectations distract me from where I was going. I squared my shoulders and began the walk up the hill. I could do this.