never be so kind you forget to be clever
The obstacle course stretched across the sand before the queen is composed of lengths of rope, wooden barriers, stacked crates, and narrow balance beams, arranged into something that looks as though a shipwreck and a military training yard have collided. Targets stand at staggered intervals throughout it, their painted centres already marked by feather-thin cuts from her earlier attempts. Flora pauses at the starting line with one hand braced against her thigh, breathing hard while the fingers of the other curl around the hilt of one of her daggers.
Nearby, Spice lounges atop an overturned crate with her wings half-spread, offering a series of bright, chirruping trills that Flora has chosen to interpret as encouragement rather than criticism. "Yes, thank you," she pants, straightening. "I’m aware that you could fly over all of it." Spice’s answering trill rises smugly at the end.
Flora narrows her eyes at the dragon before turning back toward the course. The first target waits several yards away, partly obscured behind a hanging curtain of knotted rope. Rolling one shoulder and then the other, the queen draws a second feather dagger and settles their familiar weight between her fingers. She takes one steadying breath, lets her focus narrow, and throws.
The blade flashes silver-white through the ropes and sinks into the target just left of centre. "Well," Flora mutters, already launching herself forward. "It was windy."
There is almost no wind.
She clears the first barrier with one hand planted against the wood, swinging her legs over without sacrificing much momentum. Her shoes bite into the loose sand when she lands, kicking up a spray behind her as she accelerates toward the next section. A low rope forces her downward, and Flora drops into a run that becomes a dive, one shoulder striking the sand as she tucks into a roll. For one dizzying second there is only sky, beach, and the sharp pressure of grit against her bare legs. Then she’s upright again, ponytail whipping across her shoulder as she draws another dagger before she has entirely regained her balance.
The second target swings from a wooden frame ahead of her. Flora plants one foot, turns through her hips, and throws. The feather dagger cuts across the course and punches neatly into the painted centre just as the target swings away.
Nearby, Spice lounges atop an overturned crate with her wings half-spread, offering a series of bright, chirruping trills that Flora has chosen to interpret as encouragement rather than criticism. "Yes, thank you," she pants, straightening. "I’m aware that you could fly over all of it." Spice’s answering trill rises smugly at the end.
Flora narrows her eyes at the dragon before turning back toward the course. The first target waits several yards away, partly obscured behind a hanging curtain of knotted rope. Rolling one shoulder and then the other, the queen draws a second feather dagger and settles their familiar weight between her fingers. She takes one steadying breath, lets her focus narrow, and throws.
The blade flashes silver-white through the ropes and sinks into the target just left of centre. "Well," Flora mutters, already launching herself forward. "It was windy."
There is almost no wind.
She clears the first barrier with one hand planted against the wood, swinging her legs over without sacrificing much momentum. Her shoes bite into the loose sand when she lands, kicking up a spray behind her as she accelerates toward the next section. A low rope forces her downward, and Flora drops into a run that becomes a dive, one shoulder striking the sand as she tucks into a roll. For one dizzying second there is only sky, beach, and the sharp pressure of grit against her bare legs. Then she’s upright again, ponytail whipping across her shoulder as she draws another dagger before she has entirely regained her balance.
The second target swings from a wooden frame ahead of her. Flora plants one foot, turns through her hips, and throws. The feather dagger cuts across the course and punches neatly into the painted centre just as the target swings away.
