[Training] [se] running in place

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Easily goaded when the notions of weaponry were on the mind, he nodded towards the dual purpose of axes; innately fond of anything that served more than just singular intentions. “Understandable,” came on another rumble, before he began moving forward, away from the fire, and towards the back, where he’d always long since stored targets. Striking out across the floor made several other soldiers move in various directions, either out of some level of intimidation or curiosity. He ignored the notions, and picked out one he’d designed some seasons ago, still there, kept in the thresholds of either safe-keeping or ignorance.

It was a very poor effigy of Sunjata, with a larger-than-life nose and a set of beady eyes. It had a replica in Torchline, simply because the Sword was petty. “We can try,” he murmured, knowing enough about axes, he supposed, to not be in the realm of poor instruction. He’d had a friend who once specialized in them – had seen enough, known enough, to be able to give some critique and direction. Dragging the target over to a spot without anyone else lingering nearby – though he could spot some shuffling from the corner of his eye – he placed it firmly in the middle, then backed away. “Show me what you know first.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead