WESSEX
“No,” she say matter-of-factly, looking over at the girl struggling through her pushups. “You’re ready.” Throwing away the last bits of potential trouble, she comes over to Melita and looks frankly at the young Outlander, who seems a bit… worried? No. Brimming with doubt? Perhaps. “But this isn’t just about weapons. There is strength to consider. Agility. Endurance. You’re skinny and fast, and that can keep you out of trouble, but what happens when you can’t escape?” What happens when there’s someone faster and bigger and stronger? Or you don’t know the lay of the land and run into a dead end? She reaches out and takes hold of one of Melita’s arms, pulling it away from her body and shaking it a little, observing the lanky noodle that it is. “So we’re gonna put some muscles on you, and it’s definitely going to hurt.” Wessex lets go of the arm and arches an eyebrow, looking for any signs that the little firebrant isn't up for it. She will eventually get used to it, as she gets stronger and is able to do more things for a longer period of time. That is, however, what she signed up for when she asked Wessex for training.
Melita is perceptive. She had to have an inkling of what she was getting herself into. Wessex is cuddly; she doesn’t coddle - hell, she could have killed the girl during the winter if she’d had a mind to. No, Wessex will be a tough taskmistress and will teach the girl how to survive in Caido, like she has. But the thing is that children here don’t spend a long time as children. It’s a luxury they don’t have.
Wessex steps away and fetches her own staff, coming to face Melita again, holding the wood at arm’s length, parallel to the ground. A normal person might have kicked around, made sure their knees were feeling up to it, hiked up their clothing, or dome some sort of preparation - but Wessex doesn’t have to do that. Her knees will always be in working order. She doesn’t have to wear layers. There’s no need to stretch. Instead, she sinks down into a wide legged squat, knees over her toes and looks expectantly at the redhead, waiting for her to follow suit.
The Natural woman knows exactly what she’s inflicting on the Outlander, because at some point, many years ago, someone taught Wessex a thing or two about fighting. Then they died and she was left to figure shit out on her own - but her then-teacher had be adamant about two things: come ready to work and that he wouldn’t ask her to do anything he wouldn’t do with her.
So. Here they go.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
