Training for old time's sake
for Rory
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
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#1

The dogs know her scent, though she has been absent for quite some time. Ella and Vaya may not come rushing to greet the Ascended (if anything they watch her warily, not out of fear, but confusion for what she is and what she can do in the night, with the monsters), but they at least keep quiet and let her enter the farmstead unchallenged.

Unsure of whether she’s looking for a place to stay, hide, or just escape the shitfest in the Hollowed Grounds, Wessex stares at the farmhouse she once rebuilt with a word and a promise (a broken promise - a thing she must speak to her Lady about, but when, oh when?), but can’t bring herself to go in. It’s not the light she wants. Not the darkness, either, because she isn’t hiding, not really.

She’s tying up loose ends. Just in case. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best - that sort of survivalist mantra. They didn’t come for her at the Infirmary, so she slipped out the next time and made her way from shadow to shadow, as quickly and silently as possible into the Outskirts, using the paths mostly grown over from disuse. And they brought her by Rory’s place. Rory. Also absent. But perhaps more her kind right now than Amalia or Deimos or Melita. They can sit in silence together, at least, and it won’t be uneasy.

But even that thought isn’t comforting. Assuming that the man is in his lit house, she makes her way to the barn, sliding open the barn door as unobtrusively as possible; it doesn’t work, the hinges squeak and Wessex grimaces, not wanting to be taken for a thief. “Rory?” she calls quietly into the sweet-smelling building, and then glancing behind her, in case he should appear from the house.

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Leatherworker

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#2
Rory had lit a fire and some candles, as much for the comfort it offered as to stave off the first of the Leafchange night chills. There was much on his mind, much on his heart, and he found that evenings and nights were less lonely with the company of fire. It crackled and popped, and he was sunk down on the floor in front of it. His vacant stare went right through the dancing flames as his mind twisted and turned like a restless sleeper.

Zariah had turned his world into a nightmare.

Jigano had played a risky and high game by refusing to enlist and now he was gods knew where (Rory preferred not to know). And what would the Queen do if she caught him? Make an example out of him? Keep him in jail until he enlisted? Turn him into a slave? Rory's thoughts swirled and swirled, worry about Jigano (and a slight frustration with his wild ways; why not just bow his head and be safe until the time was right?) mixing with mental images of the blight. The Undine, her beautiful and haunting and sad voice skirling through his memories, the black rot slowly eating away her flesh—and the radiant light cleansing her.

And Wessex... His Wessex: where was she? He normally saw her more often than he had as of late, and he worried for her, too. He didn't doubt her; he never did.

But he worried all the same.

If he had been doing anything, perhaps he would not have heard the protesting noise of the barn door sliding open. Had he been more occupied with his thought he might've written it off as another snap of the fire in his hearth, but on that night—the flames hushed and whispered but that sound was different.

Shortly after—"Rory?"

He raised his head. Came to his feet. He knew that voice, would know it anywhere, and as he crossed to the door he began to wake up (and found that he was a little hungry). Over the threshold and into the dark and yes, there she was, by the barn, a tenacious, ferocious blond ghost, strong in so many ways that he was not.

"Wessex!" he cried happily, unaware of the fact that he was running towards her, showing no regard for her personal space as he tried to give her a strong, but brief, hug before stepping back. "Where have you been?"
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#3

Wessex! comes from behind her, from the farmhouse, and she hardly knows what she’s doing before Rory sweeps her into a hug, arms around her, and she finds herself awkwardly patting him back. The Ascended doesn’t touch others very often anymore. It’s… tolerabley nice, she decides, after they part. Feels odd, but also comforting. But before she can answer his question, the woman looks around and gestures for them to move in to the barn, and assuming that he follows, slides the door shut behind them.

“It’s good to see you too. You ok?” she begins with a half-smile, moving into the center and leaning against a support beam. “I was captured; first by the Fae, and then they handed me over to Zariah. I managed to escape in the Greatwood with some help, but it was close… too fucking close, Rory.” The pit, the lightning storm, the draining magic, the intervention. It's been a whirlwind couple of days and it shows - just a little. In the way she's overly cautious, in the occasional pause to stop and listen to the environment, in the faintest grimace at admitting she could have lost. Lost her life, lost everything.

Her inability to be sure if she could have escaped on her own, or not. That’s what haunts her at night. It’s not that she isn’t enough, isn’t strong enough or fast enough, it’s that she’s realized she can’t fight Zariah up close - and that’s what she’s currently good at. So, this walking weapon either needs some long-range offensive options, or she needs to get faster, or both.

And if Rory is anywhere near Wessex’s headspace, he could probably use a physical outlet. To get rid of some nervous energy. To think more clearly. To just… function in this environment. And since they aren’t the kind of friends who fuck, so that just leaves fighting.

“Up for a friendly spar?” she asks, not wanting to spend too much time dwelling on her feelings. “I could use some work against magic.” She needs to learn how to fight it, just in case she ever has to again.

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#4
Part of him thought it was rather rude to just ignore her personal bubble like that, but a bigger part of him didn't care. We don't always get to choose what happens to us, and at least this thing came from a good place, right? He was just so relieved to see her again: whole and hale, seeming no worse for wear, though he was about to become aware that she was quite on edge. But in that moment, with his arms wrapped around her and she awkwardly patting his back, he could only think of that she was okay, and how relieved he was that she was okay.

Releasing her he stepped back, expecting the answer to his question but getting—well, more or less told to come into the barn. Rory's brows furrowed and he slid after her into the building, listening to the offending door as it slid shut. This time, it barely groaned at all. Perplexed, Rory watched her with a newfound sort of wariness, not afraid of what she might do, but afraid of what she might fear being done to her.

If something was enough to make Wessex uneasy, Rory definitely didn't want anything to do with it.

"I'm alright," he responded, feeling a little out of sorts after this rude awakening to the harsh reality of his world. His joy over seeing her hadn't faded, but it had been tempered, reined in, doused in something cold that could partially be labeled as Zariah. What had she wanted with Wessex? And how powerful was she, if Wessex—one of the most powerful and capable and cunning people Rory knew—had been hard-pressed to escape? What sort of monster sat upon her throne and called the Hollowed Grounds hers?

He wanted to ask about it but there was no time, and before he knew what he was doing he was nodding. "Alright," he agreed, eyeing the barn. "But afterwards, you'll tell me everything about the Fae and your escape from Zariah, okay?" Practice against magic? All he could do was try to set fire to her, something he wouldn't be comfortable doing in his own barn if it wasn't for the fact that he seemed just as capable of putting it out as he was of creating it. Slowly he left his place by the door to walk further into the barn, giving himself some space.

It seemed a very Wessex thing to want to spar, instead of rest.

"But keep in mind I'm still very shit at like, actual physical combat. Oh, and, how flammable are you?" The last thing he wanted to do was seriously hurt her by accident.
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
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#5

“Deal.” He’s probably one of the few the only person she’s comfortable being honest with anyways. Relieved that he’s fairly untouched by all the disruption (aside from Jigano, which she just learned about - and she should ask, but he didn’t bring it up), she can use the time here to realign and reset.

Rory does, however, have a very valid point about her and then she thought about the barn. Not only is Wessex quite flammable, but so is the structure. And she’d hate to see it burn down as a result of their negligence. Even though theoretically… he could put it out? “Rather flammable. But I’m also rather fast now, so maybe just starting easy would be best? And maybe not in here, now that I think about it.” Man. She must be a little out of it, if she made such a silly mistake. Going to the door and opening it again, just to look around and then walk out, into the safer open air, she adds, “And I’ll do some knife work with you in turn, yeah?” In case he needs to fight at close range and can't risk using fire.

She takes two knives out of various areas of her clothing and drops them on the ground, ready and on her toes (proverbially and literally) so she can duck, dip, dive, and dodge whatever the fire-mage decides to throw at her. Flaming spirals? Balls? Something that rains down or comes from the ground rather that from the front or side?

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 3 - Strg: 16 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 8 - Int:
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#6
So, they had a deal, and he was content to put it out of his mind for the time being. He'd get the details soon enough, for he trusted Wessex to keep her part of the deal, so creating catastrophic scenarios in his own head wasn't going to help. Besides, he had other things to concern himself with: Wessex's flammability, and how to not accidentally kill her. He had grown into his fire powers rather quickly, and he didn't know the scope of them yet. How strong was he? How much could he control—and how far away? What, exactly, could he do with it?

Truth be told, he had never really done much except light candles, or hold flames in his palm. "To be honest I'm not quite sure of what I can do with it," he admitted as he followed her back to the door. "So starting small and taking it from there will probably be good for me as well."

Then they were back out in the darkness, Rory's eyes adjusting to the starlight and for a brief moment he envied her: she, the creature of the night, stronger and more agile than anything else on two legs under the dark night sky. What was it like, to be favored by a God? To be something special, something beloved and lovingly crafted, and not merely some magically inclined mishap who didn't even know where he'd gone wrong?

To almost be the wolf, with the night in its mouth.

He sighed. "Yeah," he agreed to her offer, watching as she dropped some very intimidating knives before readying herself.

So... how did one do this? Oh, he knew some Naturals who could control fire, but not on the scope that Edy could—and now, Rory too. So all he had to go on was that time in the utter darkness, the ball of flame arcing towards him, too slow and too fast at the same time.

Fire sputtered to life in his palm: a fist-sized globe of licking flames, and experimentally he threw it at her—rather hard and rather fast. She wouldn't want him going easy on her, so go easy he wouldn't.

Barring any dreadful mistakes, like setting her on fire, he would create more of the balls, experimenting much with his own control and scope. Could he create it anywhere in his sphere of influence? Yup. How large was his area of control? .. surprisingly large. Could he throw it, only with his mind? Yup.

It all had one downside, though: he was so focused on what he was doing that anyone could've snuck up on him and stabbed him to death then and there, and he wouldn't have noticed.



Training post 1/4
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#7

He forgets that she is favored by One, and intensely hated by the other six (7 if you count the father-god). Is it a worthwhile trade-off? Her second life says hell yes, but she can see why anyone firmly dedicated (and beloved) to the Old Gods would immediately balk at it.

Anyway. Back to the training.

She’s not got her cloak on, which means her blonde mop of hair and light skin might make a better target for him. All her attention is centered on Rory’s palms, on the bits of flame that could actually kill her if either of them get too careless. He throws it at her - harder and faster than she expects, but there’s a certain kind of exhilaration that sweeps over her when she realizes he’s not going ‘easy.’ She dodges to the left and watches the ball sail by her, presumably to be extinguished by Rory at some point. Or to land and burn itself out.

Which might not be the best idea. So he’s got two things to do, really. Light her up and put it all out afterward.

“Good,” she says with a small twinkle. “Now see if you can throw one, more slowly, and then split it into two in mid-air. Put them at chest height and i’ll just drop to the ground.” Cause one is great, but two is better, and three? Well with three, his opponents might have a genuine problem.

Oh boy. Dear, sweet Rory might actually be able to cause problems all by himself soon.

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#8
That first ball of fire—the first time he had ever thrown flames, and to think that he was throwing it at his friend—sailed by harmlessly, not even singeing her right shoulder as she dove out of the way. He was very relieved that she got away unscathed, and let his focus follow the fire to the ground. It sputtered harmlessly for a second, dimming, before he snuffed it out of existence.

No point in playing with fate like that.

His expression was a bit weird when he looked up at her, something dark and slightly concerned in it; it felt like he had crossed a threshold, and like there was no turning back. That door had slammed behind him, hard, trapping him in a future where he might have to rely on throwing fire at people and actually meaning it. He swallowed, an absent nod at her praise, relief that she wanted to take control of it. It meant fewer surprises for her, so, less danger.

He breathed in, deeply, and the fire sparked to life in his hand as well. Split it in two shouldn't be too hard.. right? He took a couple of steps backwards to give himself more space to focus in, and then threw it towards her chest: it arced straight and true, fueled by intention rather than physics, and in mid-air that intention pulled it apart into two. They were rather small and unstable, and pretty much the moment Wessex would've ducked under them (or if she didn't, hit her) they fizzled out of existence as he lost his focus. He felt slightly stunned, not by what he had achieved, but by what all of this meant—some sort of soul-searching and development happening in fast-forward, with no chance to slam on the brakes and think about it.



Training post 2/4!
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#9

He seems worried… or unsure? And for a moment, Wessex wonders if he underestimates her. Underestimates himself? But then she remembers that Rory is a farmer and a leatherworker and for as long as she’s known him, she’s never gotten the sense that he is anything but gentle and solid. A pillar, some might call him, rather than the uncontrollable, dangerous fire he holds in his palms.

But he must change with the times. Everything is different now, the possibilities for them are potentially infinite and not all of them are peaceful and good, ff that she is sure;  if she has to yank him along with her, she will do so, rather than lose him to the dangers of being unprepared. If he wants coddling, he can go somewhere else. They both know that.

Wessex stands in a ‘ready’ position, knees bent and joints loose. She watches as he sparks, throws, and then manipulates, dropping to the ground with plenty of time for them to fizzle out above her. She smiles. It’s a start. Moving to get up, she asks him an important question, “What allows you to control it? Mental and physical energy? Concentration? Emotions?” A brief pause. “If you’re cornered or threatened, will something spark a response, or do you have to concentrate on it for it to happen?”

Cause they can always work on fire as a defensive tool, rather than an offensive one.

But just in case he needs a quick break (remembering the weird, slightly dark expresion), she offers, “Or we can take a quick break for knives,” looking to where she left the blades. Or he can call the shots - after all, training is a two-way street.  

----------

Feel free to choose what you want to do next/ its attack and PP W agreeing to it :)

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#10
Wessex dropped, easily: he had given them both more room to react, after all, and this one he hadn't thrown as fast. He had been focused on other things, like eventually splitting it, and there was never really any danger to her. Somewhere, deep down, he was glad. Relieved. Rory didn't want to become proficient at hurting others.

But what choice did he have? Absolutely none.

So he watched as she got up again, thought as she asked him her questions. What did let him control it? (The blood fault—) He gazed down into his palm, upturned, as flame licked into life. And he gazed into his other palm, upturned, as a small sparrow flitted into existence, sitting on his thumb.

"I don't know," he said quietly, turning his hands upside down. Fire and sparrow merely disappeared. "It's like.. having more limbs, or something. They're just connected up here-" he tapped his temple "-and so, yeah... I can flail instinctively if I'm surprised, but unless I focus on it, it's very brief and not very refined." He shrugged, slightly. At the end of the day, it was like leatherworking, or any other craft: something one had to concentrate on. Sure, he could probably set something on fire and keep it on fire with the back of his mind, but if he wanted to achieve anything, he'd have to keep his mind on it.

"Maybe some knives," he said after a moment, slowly going to where Wessex had dropped them. He needed to clear his head, and not with pyromania. "Then I can tire you out by throwing things at you afterwards." So he grabbed one of the weapons, weighing it in his hand. Gods, he knew absolutely nothing about this.

He hefted the dagger a couple of times, then made the world's worst jab towards Wessex: it wasn't really intended as an attack, just a mock movement to show her just how awful he was at it, and how much work she had ahead of her if she wanted to turn him into a knifeman.



Training post 3/4!
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
MP: 0
#11

It’s not so much about turning him into a knifeman so much as making him look like he knows what he’s doing. Bluffing can be half the battle. The preventative, ultimate defense half. Which is what she wants to impress on Rory; Wessex knows full well that they are very different people. Where she might revel in the beauty of a fight, in the thrill of power and the way her body seems to instinctively remember its training, in the satisfaction of winning, Rory might only need enough to keep himself and others safe. To stand up against someone if he has to - or wants to.

She wants to keep him alive. And this is her way of doing it, without seeming sappy or maudlin, without a confession of love (hat good are words, anyway, when they can so easily be false?). She’d done somthing similar with Magrethe, all those years ago. (Because I can’t always be there to protect you!)

More limbs. Concentration. Focus. She offers him what she thinks is a reassuring smile. “The good news is that focus and concentration can be worked on whenever you want. Don’t need anyone else to practice.” The bad news is she isn’t sure if he will practice or not.

They move on to knives, sliding into her realm almost seamlessly, despite his fumbling attempts with the blade. Wessex actually chuckles and scoots her abdomen back, out of the way. “Ok, first thing is how to hold it.” Using her own as a demonstration, she lays it in the palm of her hand, blade pointing towards the center of her body, then moves her thumb to the dull edge’s side of the handle and curls it slightly in, making the weapon more secure. She waggles the rest of her fingers and wrap around the handle in a loose grip. “There’s this hold, which is useful for quick slashes, but not so great for stabbing. Then there’s this hold -” she flips the blade around so the dull edge is pressed against her wrist, blade pointed out. She moves her thumb from the top of the handle and again tucks it down a bit, while the other fingers wrap around the handle.

She makes two slow stabbing motion towards Rory, careful not to come too close. The first goes towards his belly, the second diagonally towards his chest and neck. “- which has more force, but is less agile. But you can also easily walk with it concealed in your hand if you’re feeling unsafe.” Wessex demonstrates by walking and tucking the knife right against the skin of her wrist, hand almost totally concealing the weapon, shiny blade hidden from the front view. After a couple of paces, she quickly moves into a crouch, hand with the blade out in front, with the edge now facing towards the centerline of another person’s body. It could slide between the ribs, cut a major artery… whatever one might want it to do.

“You try. Then show me your ready stance.”

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
Leatherworker

Age: 36 | Height: 175cm / 5'9 | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#12
Wessex might be uncertain if Rory would practice, but she needn't worry: he would, because he still very vividly remembered the faces of Edrei and Ashetta as they promised to kill him. And if he could prevent, that, well... He was rather invested in his own existence, and in prolonging it. It might take him a long, long time before he could rely on his skills with a physical weapon, but magic? Magic felt.. easier.

He felt strangely pleased to draw a chuckle from her with his mock attack, glad for the break from all the grim and hopeless prospects of the world. It was a little ray of sunlight (starlight) in his darkness, and he gave her a small, grimacing grin.

But then they were back in business. Wessex handled the knife like Rory handled horses: with ease and familiarity, her fingers and the smooth, cold, deadly surfaces old friends. Rory drank it all in, sometimes stepping around her, sometimes just cocking his head, to watch it from a different angle, noting the way her fingers wrapped around the hilt in the different positions.

He liked the first hold. It looked relatively secure and easy, but still dangerous. (Duh. Knives were sharp objects.) Then Wessex changed hold and made two mock stabs towards him, which had him stepping back slightly. She had demonstrated the jabs very slowly, but he couldn't help but think of how devastating such a thing would've been, had she moved with her natural speed... He would've been dead before he knew it.

He shivered slightly, watching her walk away with the knife concealed, then drop into a stance, ready to punch holes in someone's body.

"Right," he said, sounding more firm than he felt. Walking towards her with his knife just loosely laid over his palms he stopped close-ish, demonstrating the first hold—decently, ish, and waited for her corrections. Once she had fixed his grip he moved the knife experimentally through the air a couple of times, feeling how it moved. Then he moved on to the second hold, and let her correct him, before repeating the process of feeling how it moved through the air.

Then he switched back to the first hold. "I don't think I have a ready stance," he admitted ruefully, but he.. well, he tried; he put his feet a little further apart for balance, bent slightly at the knees and shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. It was easier to spring into motion that way, after all.



Training post 4/4!
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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Posts: 3,156 | Total: 4,350
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#13

It’s the way that he tries his hardest to do what she wants him to do even though it goes against his nature, that she finds endearing. He’s got a similar effect on her too, bringing out the nurturing, logical care side of her and making her occasionally think twice about her actions. Wessex will never be as kind or as thoughtful as the other people in Rory’s life. She may never  sit down to tea with him and chat about life in the Grounds. But she will take care of him when he needs it. She will protect him when she can. She will be the bad guy so he doesn’t ever have to be, even though he would never want her to do that for him.

This lesson is her love language.

She makes a few corrections: angle of the blade and a looser hold (the knife should be free to move, but not free to leap from his hand), and then nods approvingly. His second hold is better, she just makes a small thumb position adjustment.

“Ahhh… pretend you’re trying to catch a runaway goat?” she throws the suggestion out there for a ‘ready’ stance, regardless of knowing whether or you can actually catch one of those bouncy critters successfully by yourself. “Whatever works for you so you can easily move. And if the knife is in your right hand your right foot should be slightly forward. Same if it’s in the left.” Wessex demonstrates her own stance, crouched down to minimize the target area, both hands in front of her but with upper arms and elbows tucked in tightly. She seems to peer out at Rory from just behind above and behind the blade, protecting her face.

WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm


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