Spring has meant four hours a day of archery practice. It's been a productive season; If the winds are gentle, he can't miss a bullseye from fifty paces now, and his muscles have grown to take the strain. Practicing while wearing armor has been an added challenge from previous years. 

In summer the humid nights will make for good practice at working in the darkness - learning to hone his eyes to see without the aid of torchlight, to shoot and fight in it, to better see using his ears and nose. 

It also means sleeping through the muggy days instead of enduring them, heavenly. 

When he's not training, he's preparing in other ways, trading labour for lessons from any traveller who has a skill worth learning. Lessons in sewing and in stitching wounds, the administering and treatment of poisons, knowledge in common law and uncommon lore. Anything and everything he can do to make use of the time his body heals in. For summer? He plans for more of the same. 

He's a tight little ball of youthful ambition, Tristan. He doesn't know when the time will come for him to prove himself, but he knows it can be measured in days. Taking breaks from his training fills him with needle-pains in his stomach and an unbearable itch in his limbs. One lesson that hasn't stuck is learning how to [i]chill out[/i]. 

All work and no play makes Tristan a sharp tool and a dull boy.

He's chomping at the bit to take to the woods with a hammock and a pack of provisions and make ambush. Or if the threat is more than he can take, to stalk the threat to its hideout and bring the news back to the stronghold. But Nin is the specialist here, at tracking and trailing. 

He stomps down his impatience as he takes to Nin's side, but he's still vibrating with enthusiasm to be helpful as best he can. These are the moments he lives for.