Sword practice!

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen makes her way out to a cleared patch of hard-packed dirt near the firing range, carrying two wooden practice blades and a bunch of padding.

Better safe than sorry for the early stages of sparring. (She remembers her own bruises very, very well).

Liranan is trotting next to her, loaded down with what might be two picnic baskets and several bottles of water. Healing poultices may be involved, too. Just in case. Then she settles herself against a nearby boulder, waiting for Hera.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

"No," Ysalwen's agreement is just as quiet, even as she moves her sword to meet Hera's.

"It feels worse, in a way, that we're not the only ones."

[for_everyone]

She taps Ysalwen's sword, then lifts hers again, into another sideways strike.

"No. I wish it were - rarer."

In some ways, it feels like it's getting worse. And fewer people seem to know.

[freedom_is_grey]

"Someday," Ysalwen says, still just as quietly, and lifts her blade for a riposte.

It's not a promise, ones like this are impossible to make. But there is hope in it, and determination.

[for_everyone]

Hera moves her blade away again.

And then asks, after a few more swings, "Am I ready to move a little faster?"

[freedom_is_grey]

"I don't know," Ysa says, a little less quietly this time. "Are you?"

But her next swing comes in a little faster.

"Let's try half speed, see what you make of it."

There's still a solid rhythm to it all, and a pattern to the strikes, so half-speed is infinitely achievable. Three-quarters they'll save for next time, or the time after that.

And eventually it's time to break into the picnic baskets, food separated out into one for the people who eat cooked food -- bitter dishes mixed in with spicier ones, so everyone gets to eat something enjoyable -- and one that contains most of a deer flank for Liranan. Keeping watch is hungry work!