Fang's Heart 🐉 | Rayaari

Chapter Three: Monsoon

TW: Graphic content (mention of blood).

🐉

"You can figure out what
the villain fears by his
choice of weapons."

- Connie Brockway

🐲

With one full swing on the wooden dummy, the child stumbled on her feet, losing her balance on the weight of the Machete. Her small hands barely holding the hilt, she could've chosen the Arnis sticks but she was adamant on grasping an actual blade.

She flinched as her knee scraped the coarse training grounds, the inside of the skin bleeding. Quietly, she whimpered and tears began to stung her eyes.

It was still early, insects were trilling and the training grounds for the warriors barren. Seeing this as an opportunity, she snuck out from her room and decided to train, careful not to alert the guards in the process.

Fang warriors do not receive proper training until they are the ages of twelve. For her case, she was still nine and had three more years to go. But she is a part of Fang and Fang people are idly in line with their lack of patience and pride.

Additionally, the young heir, regardless for her status, is uncertain of her ripening prowess in fighting. Is it for the intention that she is Fang or reaping the look of aprobation from her own mother?

Her white tunic and shorts were all sullied by a good hour of swinging her sword and falling down, elbows and feet had small patches of forming bruises and scratches.

She pulled herself and straightened her back, hugging her knees close to her chest, small shoulders shaking.

"Namaari?"

Little Namaari jumped, eyes snapping towards the direction of a man. He had the same dark, brown eyes as hers, almost onyx. Sharp features and a golden accessory adorning his left ear. Top bare, golden cuffs on each muscular biceps, a golden sash wrapped around his waist garbed with white trousers and black boots.

She forgot that his morning strolls were mostly around these times.

"A-ama." Namaari's small voice squeaked and gathered herself, standing up and bowing.

The King carefully raised his brows in question but quickly threaded his way towards his daughter. Bending down to her level and cupping her shoulders, scanning for any serious injuries.

"What are you doing at this early hour, bughaw?" He eases her, wiping a stray tear and dusting off her clothes.

"I was practicing my sword." She utters meekly, pointing to the Machete on the ground.

"All by yourself?" There was disbelief laced in his tone and Namaari panicked.

"I-I'm sorry, I should've said something to Ama-"

Her father cuts her off with an affectionate smile and shook his head. "No, dear. I am amazed. For such a flower, you have an inner serlot inside you."

The young princess of Fang gazed at his father in awe. The approval of Virana seems far too away from her reach but somehow, her Father's words brought pride in her small heart.