Editing Some Story

''Home sweet home.''

The sky existed only to paint a dull matte behind the towering trees. Faint sunlight penetrated the scarce holes between the thick roof of the Tokara forest. These trees had lived here for hundreds of years, and yet the bark still bonded with the tree as if it were new. Here was a settlement, with not more than fifty people living here. For twelve years, the inhabitants lived off the sap and wildlife provided scarcely by the land. The '''TRIBE NAME''' burrowed deep and complex caverns into the trees. This was home. The network of wooden tunnels provided shelter from the heat, wind and rain. Life was dangerous in Tokara, but there was no fear. Everyone knew each other, everyone trusted each other.

Patrick got home from his daily training. Ever since he was eight years old, he wanted to become an archer, to follow in his father's footsteps. His father crafted arrows using the finest woods, feathers and heads many years ago, before they lived in the Tokara settlement. Patrick always wondered what had brought them to this wasted part of the country, but his father would avoid the answer. He would walk for long hours through the thick flora, his mind full of thoughts Patrick desired to know. Patrick wanted to find out about his history, where he came from. He missed his mother, and his sister whom he only had a painted portrait of. He treasured that painting. It hung beside his bed, and he would stare into it every night as he fell to sleep.

Rick, Patrick's older brother was about to leave for work. He was a trainer as a Swordsman and he had been training ever since he was 5 years old. He was well-built, tall, rugged, and respected for his patience. Never had anyone seen him aggravated. 

Before Rick left, Patrick emitted a low, shy voice, "When will you be home? I want to talk to you."

"I'll be home late tonight. Got a few people falling behind in their training. You'd better eat breakfast and get to archery training."

"Okay, Rick."

Patrick didn't really know what to do, so he grabbed a few fruits, and was on his way to training. Once his training area was in sight, lit up by the giant emerald, reflecting off the bark of the trees, he sat down by a bunch of lit torches. He stared at the glorious orange light flickering off of the nearby trees. This was the place that gave him peace of mind. This was where he would sit, every day, before and after training to think about what he would do when he got older.

"Greetings, Patrick!" Rufus said. Rufus was his trainer. He was an old, bald Asian man, with thick, white eyebrows that would strike fear into the hearts of those disobeyed him. His eyes gleamed off of the emerald, as if he could himself harness the power that lies within it. The emerald was the forest's centre of attraction. Everyone worshipped it, believed that it could guide them. To Patrick, it was merely a meeting place for him trainer and a few of his students. 

"Hello, Rufus," Patrick replied. 

"Are you feeling well today?"

"Could be better; let's just get on with training"

Patrick picked up his bow, and started shooting at the painted tree for a little while, with a few of Rufus' arrows. Of course, training to be a marksman, he never missed his shots. He was amazing with that bow, and he couldn't wait to learn how to make one himself. He wanted to be able to use a crossbow, but there was only one that would function throughout the entire settlement. It was his father's, and he would never allow Patrick to touch it. He says only a true marksman is able to use it. Patrick didn't understand what he meant by that, as a crossbow is easier to use than a bow, but he disregarded what he was just told, and went on shooting.