[Training] no one told you to breathe

MELITA

A swipe here, a swipe there, a dance she doesn’t know all the steps too, but had begun to pick up, to understand their influential movements. She’d yet to learn the art of warfare or the delicate balances required for true belligerence; the aggression, the motives, the tenacity there, pulsing with grit and mettle. She’d forget, but then she’d learn, and the moves would become less complicated, less demanding, fluid, effortless, a rise and fall of blood and vengeance. Melita was quick to acknowledge she wanted every tome, every book, every description, every lecture about it.

The youth maneuvered quickly out of his range, attempting not to have her shirt or shoulder torn, only minimally glancing down at her feet as she wove around to reposition the stance. Triangle formation, beating the notions in her head as she rendered herself in front of his side, quick, smooth, a dash to the left, a folly to the right, raising her daggers before her chest, and then attempting to lunge towards his left hip; pondering if this was where she decided where someone was to go, where she had some modicum of control in the oblivion.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts