Theea
takes blood, sweat, and tears to look natural
He surges and the check crashes through my guard, hitting my shield with a solid thunk—my whole arm aches again, a bright, buzzing pain from wrist to shoulder—but it isn’t the ache that gets me. It’s the next insult.
He trips me. Again. Why didn't I see that coming?
My boot skids; the hooked drag yanks my foot out from under me and the breath tears out of my chest when my back hits the packed snow. Cold bites through my too-thin layers; stars shiver at the edge of my vision; the horizon’s first yellow seam wavers as I gasp for air. I'm not hurt, but I'm out of breath.
I glare up at the sky, then cut that glare to him when his shadow falls over me and he offers a hand. I don’t take it. I look at his palm, then at him—flat, unamused—and swat his hand away with the rim of my shield, a sharp, ringing bat that says I’m not done.
My legs surge. I plant one heel, whip my hips, and scissor hard into his stance, tangling my calves with his. My shin hooks deep behind both knees, searching for the tendons; my other foot carves around his ankle to snare it. I yank and twist at once, using the ground as leverage and the shield as a shove at his center of gravity—trying to fold his legs and drag him down into the snow with me before he can step out or brace.
[ training 4/4 ]
He trips me. Again. Why didn't I see that coming?
My boot skids; the hooked drag yanks my foot out from under me and the breath tears out of my chest when my back hits the packed snow. Cold bites through my too-thin layers; stars shiver at the edge of my vision; the horizon’s first yellow seam wavers as I gasp for air. I'm not hurt, but I'm out of breath.
I glare up at the sky, then cut that glare to him when his shadow falls over me and he offers a hand. I don’t take it. I look at his palm, then at him—flat, unamused—and swat his hand away with the rim of my shield, a sharp, ringing bat that says I’m not done.
My legs surge. I plant one heel, whip my hips, and scissor hard into his stance, tangling my calves with his. My shin hooks deep behind both knees, searching for the tendons; my other foot carves around his ankle to snare it. I yank and twist at once, using the ground as leverage and the shield as a shove at his center of gravity—trying to fold his legs and drag him down into the snow with me before he can step out or brace.
that's how it's done
