He was nothing if not thorough, and Maea soon found that she had to focus in order to keep up with the instructions. The casual conversation died out, and a concentrated silence fell över her as she worked. Yet even as she was handed the broom and shown how to hold it and practice the lunge against the mark on the wall, she couldn't help but wonder why Jigano did all this. Did he simply enjoy teaching, or was there something else behind his good intentions? He was such a private person, rarely speaking of himself and always avoiding topic that brought center of attention towards himself. What kind of demons really haunted this traveler, lost in a strange world...?
Slowly, like a doll moving through the motions of a dance attached on strings, Maea stepped and held and aimed for the mark. The motion felt strange to her, the body unaccustomed to the new form of coordination; she retreated and tried again, and again. With each time Jigano adjusted her grip, her stance, the way she unconsciously tilted her head to aid faltering eyes, and with each attempt the girl improved just a little.
Her arm tired first. Then her back, and when she found herself sweatsoaked and out of breath and oblivious to how long they had been at it, a stumble sent the broom too hard against the wall. The impact jarred Maea, loosened her grip on the wood and the handle fell clattering to the floor. Leaning tired hands against her knees she stopped and breathed, sucking down sweet mouthfuls of air until the world no longer spun around her.
Only then did she reach for the broom again, intent on continuing until she was told to stop. Was she serious about this? Right now she was, and Maea was stubborn. It might have been a spur of the moment idea, but Jigano taking her seriously and accommodating the desire to change was encouraging. His smile was a bolster, the change from amiable friend to stern instructor a challenge to keep up and improve.
Yes, Maea was serious. She wanted to learn all that he could teach, and she did not want to let this person down.
"Could you show me what it's supposed to look like?" she asked him, and eyed the sword she had yet to see in his hand. "Maybe visualising would be easier that way."
Slowly, like a doll moving through the motions of a dance attached on strings, Maea stepped and held and aimed for the mark. The motion felt strange to her, the body unaccustomed to the new form of coordination; she retreated and tried again, and again. With each time Jigano adjusted her grip, her stance, the way she unconsciously tilted her head to aid faltering eyes, and with each attempt the girl improved just a little.
Her arm tired first. Then her back, and when she found herself sweatsoaked and out of breath and oblivious to how long they had been at it, a stumble sent the broom too hard against the wall. The impact jarred Maea, loosened her grip on the wood and the handle fell clattering to the floor. Leaning tired hands against her knees she stopped and breathed, sucking down sweet mouthfuls of air until the world no longer spun around her.
Only then did she reach for the broom again, intent on continuing until she was told to stop. Was she serious about this? Right now she was, and Maea was stubborn. It might have been a spur of the moment idea, but Jigano taking her seriously and accommodating the desire to change was encouraging. His smile was a bolster, the change from amiable friend to stern instructor a challenge to keep up and improve.
Yes, Maea was serious. She wanted to learn all that he could teach, and she did not want to let this person down.
"Could you show me what it's supposed to look like?" she asked him, and eyed the sword she had yet to see in his hand. "Maybe visualising would be easier that way."
