[Training] Hope as far as one can see

Maea

Waking from the dream
Witnessing the smoke that's rolling in

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, knee, kick, spin, repeat on the other side. The sound of her fists connecting with the heavy sandbag was a soft echo bouncing between the walls of the rundown training hall. It was a mantra playing on repeat in her mind, consuming all thoughts until it was all she knew. Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, knee, kick, spin, repeat.

The sun was going down. It was growing cooler. The locals were wrapping up their evening workouts and even the last dogged enthusiasts were tugging shirts back on and heading for the pubs - or home, though the latter were in low number. A few cast questioning glances at the short, ivory skinned girl and then at each other, questions hanging unspoken in the air. None really dared approach though. She had that look about her, that suggested anyone who spoke up better be bringing fists or drinks, or both. In the end, she was left alone on the training ring, as shadows grew longer and the last bit of sunlight disappeared beneath rooftops.

Something burned in her gut. A sour sort of ache, the kind there wasn't any word for, and no way to really get rid of. Reading wouldn't distract from it, no food settled well and sleeping was out of the question. The burn in her knuckles did ease it a bit, though. The way her breath tore at the throat, and the sting of her own sweat as it rolled into her eyes. It didn't feel good, but it didn't feel bad either; so she kept going. Pushed herself until her muscles groaned, until her brain yelled at her to quit.

That's when it felt the most satisfying to keep going. Punching harder, kicking faster; it was a controlled frenzy, the kind of self-torment that wouldn't actually do any harm to anyone. Not yet, anyway.

The end is what you fear
The scent of embers lingers in the air