Finches

Chapter 8 - The Spinning Slash

The next day Colt was still doing chores for the fisherman. After his nice chat with the Authority receptionist, he'd done the rest of his tasks and returned back to the cabin for dinner. He'd decided that it would not at all do to set off on his journey in the dead of night, so he had let himself get one more night of good sleep.

He was now up, bright and early, doing his morning tasks. His plan was to tell the fisherman that he was leaving as soon as the old man got done with his fishing.

Colt couldn't wait to leave the cabin. He was grateful and all to the fisherman, but this life just wasn't meant for him. He would take a trek through a dangerous forest over doing chores any day of the week. He was starting to get bored by all the work he was having to do, almost like he was a cabin boy again. And he knew he couldn't let that happen. He'd just gotten out of that kind of life. He wasn't ready to return to it.

Colt propped the broom he was holding against the wall, crossed the shack, and set himself down in the singular chair in the building. He had been working hard the whole morning, and had somehow managed to finish all his tasks before the old man returned. He'd swept, cleaned, dusted, and even straightened some pictures on the wall, among other things. Completing the fisherman's checklist had seemed like an impossible task yesterday, however today they were all finished while the fisherman was still out fishing. He must have improved already. That meant that he finally had some free time.

He considered taking a nap and resting up until the fisherman got back and he went into town. But he realized that he wasn't exactly tired. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had a ton of energy, more than he knew what to do with. He was getting good meals and good sleep at the shack and he was about to start out on a journey in which he had an actual end goal in mind. Things were working out perfectly for him for once in his life. That made him energetic, excited for the future. He just needed something to use all the energy on.

Then it hit him.

Colt jumped to his feet and crossed over to where the bed was. He kneeled down beside it and reached under it, feeling around. Then he made contact with it and pulled it out. His singular possession: the sword he'd taken from Captain Lobstar.

He held the sword out and examined it again. The hilt was made out of an orange curved shell and the blade was made from a sharp blue shell. It definitely looked as if it were only for show. Colt wouldn't exactly be fearing for his life if confronted with it, that was for sure. Not only was it utterly unintimidating, it looked to be made from literal shells. Not bronze, iron, or steel. A shell. Colt had been mortified when he realized that this was what he pulled from the captain of that ship. It was the worst thing that could have happened, in fact. He had half a mind to toss the thing in the trash and never set eyes upon it again.

But he didn't. Something that the fisherman had said stopped him from discarding the odd sword. "It's a weapon, and a good one at that. No weapon is created for show. It is created to serve its purpose."

It was a sword, which meant that it was designed to be used as a sword. According to the fisherman, at least. Colt wasn't sure how much the old man even knew about weapons and such, but it was the only sword Colt had at the moment so there was no reason not to at least get some practice in with it. He had a lot of energy, and practicing his swordplay seemed like a fair way to use it.

"Yaar!"

Colt swung out with the sword, striking the air with all his might. The air didn't try to fight back, which Colt took as a sign that his attack had been effective. So he struck out again, and again, and again. He came toward the same spot of nothingness at a different angle each time. He slashed, stabbed, came from below, and even did a spinning slash attack from behind his back that he thought was quite impressive.