Tal figured it was the least he could do after Zavien had helped him with his quest and shhh, never mind that he'd been helping Zavien scout, too, so he'd been willing to fly around the northern horn of the Draig and take the Dragoon to his old home. He was overdue to visit his sisters, and he had several packages heading that way anyways, so really, it all worked out.
And at least in Longheat the bitter cold was only inconvenient rather than lethal. The icebergs below were still treacherously deadly to any seagoing vessel, but the Peregrine sailed by well overhead, and the sun was shining down today, striking blinding gleams off the towers of ice and snow from below. The winds were strong but steady, and Tal felt confident locking the wheel on their course and taking some time to train with his friend.
Not with his Dagger, of course. He wouldn't be training with that with anyone except the demigods anymore.
Which meant bare fists. "Y'know, I originally got that damned Dagger so I wouldn't have t'get up close an' personal in a fight," he mused ruefully, shucking out of his Vest and rolling up his sleeves before raising his own fists. His Cuff sparkled on one wrist, keeping the cold at bay, and he kept his other jewelry on, but he at least wrapped the hand on which Frey's ring rested to cushion its blows.
His stance was messier than the soldier's, looser and less formal. He was no boxer, despite the corded muscles that now slid, taut and sinewy, beneath his shirt. But he'd been bullied plenty as a scrawny twig of a boy and he'd come out of it a scrapper with more than a few dirty tricks. Especially against people who were bigger than him. But, hail, if Zavien wanted him to go first--
Tal grinned and lunged forward, feinting a jab at Zavien's nose with his right and then aiming a vertical fist punch at the other man's right ribs with his left, shifting to get around his opponent's side to work him towards the mast behind him.
And at least in Longheat the bitter cold was only inconvenient rather than lethal. The icebergs below were still treacherously deadly to any seagoing vessel, but the Peregrine sailed by well overhead, and the sun was shining down today, striking blinding gleams off the towers of ice and snow from below. The winds were strong but steady, and Tal felt confident locking the wheel on their course and taking some time to train with his friend.
Not with his Dagger, of course. He wouldn't be training with that with anyone except the demigods anymore.
Which meant bare fists. "Y'know, I originally got that damned Dagger so I wouldn't have t'get up close an' personal in a fight," he mused ruefully, shucking out of his Vest and rolling up his sleeves before raising his own fists. His Cuff sparkled on one wrist, keeping the cold at bay, and he kept his other jewelry on, but he at least wrapped the hand on which Frey's ring rested to cushion its blows.
His stance was messier than the soldier's, looser and less formal. He was no boxer, despite the corded muscles that now slid, taut and sinewy, beneath his shirt. But he'd been bullied plenty as a scrawny twig of a boy and he'd come out of it a scrapper with more than a few dirty tricks. Especially against people who were bigger than him. But, hail, if Zavien wanted him to go first--
Tal grinned and lunged forward, feinting a jab at Zavien's nose with his right and then aiming a vertical fist punch at the other man's right ribs with his left, shifting to get around his opponent's side to work him towards the mast behind him.
