Despite his lack of time committing actual assassinations since Northwind, aside from a few no names that no one ended up missing, Kalt’s skills were very far from dulled with time. No, if anything, he trained himself extra hard to make sure he stayed sharp in idle times. Ashe, however, had allowed herself to wear down. She was one of the best fighters Northaven had seen, but she was too comfortable, even when paranoia and caution ruled her, comfort and lack of a suitable teacher really seemed to take its toll. At least, that’s how it appeared in Kalt’s eyes.
He stood in the ruins, an area most of the Northaveners seemed to steer clear of due to whatever wariness was dampening their sense of adventure. Poor saps.
Theea was left in the house he had claimed with Dodge looking after her. He trusted the mutt enough to look after a three-year-old, and Theea seemed to take to him quite nicely, so it worked out wonderfully. The only things he had with him were Whisper and quite a few of his knives and daggers hidden on his person. The idea that he would leave without at least eleven knives on him at a time was a joke.
Kalt stood at one end of the ruins, taking the dagger from the top of his boot and looking at the side of a crumbling building. With a smirk, he began scratching four words into the stone, only taking a few minutes to do so before sprinting to the other side of the ruins where he had seen her approaching. The black wolf. So appropriate that it almost made him smile to think about.
He stopped before climbing, taking dirt into his gloved hand and smearing it across the top half of his face. He took a slow breath, wiping any loose dirt particles away, making sure he wouldn’t get anything in his eyes to slow him down. That was the last thing he needed in this little activity.
With expert skill, Kalt maneuvered onto the top of a stone wall, his hood pulled over his hair. The dirt staining his face provided something of a natural mask to shield his identity, while just looking like shadow from his hood, and the five o’clock shadow which had become a constant for him gave him even more of a disguise. She hadn’t known him that way, always keeping his face perfectly smooth. It seemed many things had changed since they last trained together.
Those crystalline eyes narrowed from atop his perch, as he watched the ebony fur come into view. Ashetta was an exquisite creature in both forms, but he put the thought from his mind. That wasn’t what they were doing here. That wasn’t what they ever would be doing again. No, this was training. He wanted her to be ready. For what? Well, for him.
Kalt drew another breath, taking another breath and grabbing one of his throwing knives. He released it into the ground directly between her front paws with a devious grin. Silver Wing never missed.
She wouldn’t run. He knew that much for sure. She was like he was in that respect. Once she would look to find where the knife had come from, Kalt would jerk his head in the direction of the other side of the ruins, then leap into a sprint. He darted across the wall he perched on, then leapt off in a perfect role onto the ground, pushing again into a sprint towards his destination.
