MELITA
The youth had thought about returning to the barracks to instill some more blade training into her bones, find another who had the credentials and abilities, hone, learn, and scrape away the inexperience from her movements. Except she’d been sorely tempted by the wind, the waves, and the surf, enticed by the looming mountains, inveigled by the sand. It didn’t take her long to find an abandoned shoreline, nothing in sight but a few Hels sitting amongst the current, undulating and rippling on its accord, and a few rocks jutting out. Melita pondered using these as some sort of foundation or target, but then worried she might break one of her newly-forged daggers, and then she’d be truly out of luck. So instead, while Fangorn watched along the beach, she took up the ones Sunjata had granted and given her – and began their series of intricate movements, as if warring with ghosts, with invisible beings, with intangible adversaries. They were different than the wooden swords she’d handled, less weight, but requiring a bit more precision, and she twisted them along her hands as if they were her staff, immediately losing one in the sand.
She managed a laugh, a shake of her head, before picking it up and resuming, altering her style for the shorter junctures.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
