These are just a ton of random drabbles, ranging from 100 to 300 words. I got a lot of the prompts from the list on Spookisapuppy's profile, if any of you want to look at it, but I'm not doing them in order and I'm also adding a couple of my own. I'll put five drabbles in each chapter, so here are the first five.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ranger's Apprentice.

1. Introduction

Halt sat comfortably in his favorite chair by the fire, the one he'd told the boy not to sit on, under threat of a severe tanning of his backside. Or had he used something more original to deter the young boy? He couldn't quite remember at the moment.

The boy. Halt's apprentice. Will. Three names, all describing a quirky figure with the curiosity of a puppy. Halt let one corner of his mouth lift into a smile as he sipped the cup of coffee that warmed his hands. Having a new apprentice should be quite… entertaining. Halt wouldn't have to do the chores for a while, at the very least. Then he thought of the incessant questions and the small ghost of a grin he'd allowed himself vanished.

What had he taught his apprentice so far? How to do as he was told. Hm, Halt might need to fix that later. Rangers who didn't break the rules every once in a while never amounted to much. He'd taught the boy how to do chores and cook. Now that was worthwhile. Halt would probably have to follow through with his threat to tan the boy's backside if he ever had the gall to fix—or more correctly, ruin—that one. But he hadn't gotten around to teaching the boy much else, yet, which disappointed him even though it was only the first day of five long years of apprenticeship.

Halt thought of what the boy had learned so far, and though it was hardly anything, he still allowed his former nearly imperceptible smile to return.

It wasn't much. But it was a start.

2. Love

Love. Halt still could never quite discern what was and what wasn't when it came to that simple-sounding word embodying a truly complex idea.

Anyone who ever said love was simple was an idiot, Halt thought.

There was the love between him and Pauline, the love of a man and a women, a future or current couple—Halt considered himself lucky that he and Pauline were now the latter. That wasn't simple. He had to somehow decipher the maze of a female mind, a nearly impossible feat in itself, and then please that mind. He often found himself doing the second without accomplishing the first, and at such times he found himself utterly mystified with how he ever accomplished anything.

There was the love of him to his country, the love he had for Araluen, a country he would give his life for. There was the love of friends, so seemingly simple yet nigh everlasting. There was love of mentor and apprentice, teacher of student, such as between he and Gilan.

And then there was the love of father and son. He never thought he'd know this love, he'd only be able to believe what 'they' said on the subject. And then, quite accidentally, he'd come to know that love for himself, with Will. The boy was practically his adoptive son, and Halt knew he'd do anything to keep him safe. And he knew that Will would do the same for him. Such was the love of father and son.

Each love different, a subtly changed feeling within his chest. But each was the same, unavoidable and uncontrollable. But then, maybe he didn't want to avoid it. Maybe he didn't want control of this thing so simply called love.

3. Light

Horace looked critically at the design Halt had sketched on his shield. It was certainly a much better job than what Halt had done with his shield for Horace's 'Oakleaf Knight' status in Gallica. But that could have been because he had more tools, or maybe because this design was much simpler.

The one in Gallica had been a crude rendition of an oakleaf, made quickly, without much time for perfection. This one created in Hibernia, however, was much nicer. It was a three-quarters circle for the rising sun, sitting on top a flat line that was the horizon. Squiggling rays radiated from the sun. All in all, an appropriate design for someone called 'the Sunrise Warrior'.

"The Sunrise Warrior," Horace whispered to himself. He smiled. He really did like the sound of that, whatever doubts he had about being portrayed as a mythical figure. And if he pretending to be this Sunrise Warrior somehow helped the innocent inhabitants of Hibernia, then that was a rather large bonus.

Horace was, perhaps, the most perfect person to be the Sunrise Warrior. He was a warrior of simplicity and truth, an honest person through and through. The perfect warrior of light.

4. Dark

What were Rangers if not Araluen's beings of the dark? They were supposedly black magicians, after all, Gilan reflected.

The tall Ranger slipped through the forest like a ghost, invisible and unheard. It was night, the stars shining brightly above but still giving barely enough light to see by—although no light would be enough to see him by, unless it was perhaps another Ranger looking. And even then…

Gilan dragged his thoughts back to moving silent and unseen, but he didn't really need to concentrate to do that anymore, it was just so natural to him. His cloak swished in the wind, disguising his shape as just another patch of dark colors in the night. His quiver was strapped to his back, peeking over his right shoulder and ready for an easy draw. He held his already strung longbow in one hand, ready to nock, draw and shoot if needed. A Ranger was deadly with his bow, and so natural with one it was legendary. His two knives were in their double scabbard at his belt and with those too he could strike a target with complete accuracy. And unlike other Rangers, he also had a sword at his belt—and could use it.

But the best weapon of any Ranger was his own ability to stay undetected. To stay in the dark, not come into the light, shy from the sun and revel in the shadows. Melodramatic way of putting it, Gilan thought, but when surrounded by enemies it was quite true; they needed only to stay unknown whenever possible.

What kind of creature of light would retreat to darkness at the first sign of danger? Perhaps the Rangers really were of the dark.

5. Breathe Again

Halt stared in horror at the still form that had once been his young apprentice. Blood poured through limp fingers lying on the deep and surely deadly wound taken from a spear.

"Will," he whispered, desolate and bleak.

No. Not Will. Not him. He couldn't be dead. But what could Halt do?

Halt's eyes blurred with tears as he slowly moved Will's hand so he could see the wound that had taken the former apprentice's life. Accidentally, his fingers brushed the boy's wrist. Halt froze. He'd felt something.

A pulse! Frighteningly weak, but still there.

"Will," he whispered again, this time more hopeful. "Stay here. Don't die yet. I'll get you help."

Then Halt hesitated. The boy may be alive, but he was on the very verge of being gone forever. He couldn't risk leaving if Will died when he was gone. Then he saw several healers wading throughout the aftermath of the battle, helping and healing whatever soldiers had survived. Halt gestured to a healer, trying not to look too frantic, but that was exactly what he was feeling. The healer saw and began heading his way and Halt breathed a sigh of relief.

But he knew it wasn't over yet; Will was still badly wounded. Only when he was moving freely again and asking his incessant questions that seemed to ensure his wellbeing would either Halt or Will be able to breathe again.

Review please, tell me how you liked these! If any of you have any suggestions for future drabbles, put them in your reviews and I'll try to write it.

-Rydd Rider