Amalia
the shield of safrin
The sword on her hip, the declaration of point, and the familiar fire is stoked. It dances merrily in her breast and along the lines of her arms, follows down to the end of the not-blade (an extension of you, she remembers from somewhere long ago) and traces a path through parry and feint to land against his ribs.
Point.
Then it is lesson time again, the girl watching intently as he demonstrates tactics to disarm and disable, keenly interested in such an action and immensely grateful he understands. With mirrored images she attempts the actions, slipping her blade beneath an invisible opponents, bringing the pommel onto phantom fist.
Lesson ended, it is time to play. The sweep at her leg is better anticipated, her sword coming down in an attempt to block. But she's accustomed to the bulk and breadth of the shield; the sword does not provide the surface she expected, and she winces at the sensation of wood against her leg. Half-blocked, it wouldn't be enough to cut tendon, but certainly enough to bite. As it is, she can feel the blooming bruise.
She doesn't take the time to reflect on it, though. Knees bent from the blow, she takes advantage of the predetermined momentum and shoves herself forward, hoping to take advantage of her size and speed, as he said. The goal is to slash the sword over his shins while darting under his left, ultimately ending in a position behind him.
Point.
Then it is lesson time again, the girl watching intently as he demonstrates tactics to disarm and disable, keenly interested in such an action and immensely grateful he understands. With mirrored images she attempts the actions, slipping her blade beneath an invisible opponents, bringing the pommel onto phantom fist.
Lesson ended, it is time to play. The sweep at her leg is better anticipated, her sword coming down in an attempt to block. But she's accustomed to the bulk and breadth of the shield; the sword does not provide the surface she expected, and she winces at the sensation of wood against her leg. Half-blocked, it wouldn't be enough to cut tendon, but certainly enough to bite. As it is, she can feel the blooming bruise.
She doesn't take the time to reflect on it, though. Knees bent from the blow, she takes advantage of the predetermined momentum and shoves herself forward, hoping to take advantage of her size and speed, as he said. The goal is to slash the sword over his shins while darting under his left, ultimately ending in a position behind him.
everything that drowned me
taught me how to swim
taught me how to swim
