To lead but never follow

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

Her fist bumping into his shoulder made him raise his brow and snort lightly, but he didn’t grant it to her in return. In a way, it was another reminder of things he’d lost, allies, comrades in arms, as they bolstered one another in between trainings and assaults; and the haze of memories wasn’t where he needed to be. She could hook her arm within the crook of his elbow though, and it’d be permission enough to drag each other around the fields while musing on things that weren’t dredged up from too many other wounds.

He tilted his head at her question, striving to see what other measures were twisted into it. “Anyone can benefit from something customized for them.” A given, considering different hand sizes, callouses, worn away measures and proportions that could be adjusted given the individual – some weapons not a one size, fit all sort of dominion. “But I do not see the harm in learning the motions, regardless. We trained with wooden blades long before they gave us anything detrimental.” Because the instructors knew just how gawky, dim, and stupefying they were right from the beginning. And the weight, the configurations, hadn't been the same at all. “And how would you know if that is what you want, if you cannot practice with it first?” A shrug of his shoulders; simplifying the process.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same