Girl of Dark Flames | DISCONTINUED

Thirteen: Dark Silence

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

- Robert Frost, Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

―

THIRTEEN: DARK SILENCE

"Faster, Cass ― stronger. Push back harder, make your movements less tired. Push yourself harder."

I panted between my teeth and danced away from the edge of Ezra's sword as it whistled past my neck. Each step felt like wading through molasses. Although the night air was cool and crisp and a substantial breeze floated by, I was still sweating buckets and it was as hot as hell.

I started to lose my grip on the swords, swinging them across toward Ezra and making a feeble attempt at ducking while almost sluggishly hopping back onto my feet and bouncing slowly on the balls of my feet.

"I―"

"It's only been two minutes so far. We're only going until three."

I did my best to scrape together what little energy I had left, careful to leave the surplus of magic energy alone. Ezra said we would spar without magic, and I was out of shape enough already, even with magic energy to aid myself.

What annoyed me the most was the drop of sweat that was slowly rolling down my back at an agonizingly ticklish slow speed.

Focus. Ignore that. The tip of Ezra's sword, watch, watch it!

I danced back on weary feet, tightening the grip on the leather of my swords with some difficulty. I needed to lock my grip in and let it stay locked.

A soothing flow of wind rushed over me, like little graceful kisses of air along my skin. My skin prickled at that.

The tip of his sword pointed downwards, his eyes never leaving mine, alert and waiting for a sign of attack. I regulated my breathing. He lifted an eyebrow, almost daring me to lunge. I waited, slowing my breathing, adjusting my grip on the swords, blocking out everything else.

Find your hidden skill. You're a born swordswoman. Or rather, Noryn was a born swordswoman. It took practice for me to even swing the sword the right way. It took practice to hold the swords.

I tried to find hidden skill inside of me, I really did. Meditating, standing in weird poses, meditating with the swords, standing in weird poses with the swords...there was no hidden secret. The blatant truth was that I desperately needed practice. I also needed time. Something that I had very little of.

As we circled, mimicking the circular movement, swords pointed towards the center, eyes locked and waiting for the other to move, I calmed my breathing once more, slowed my heartbeat, brought myself to see only what I needed to see and to focus on those points.

Watch his eyes for a flicker of a glance. Watch his limbs for a flicker of a movement. Watch his sword for a flicker of a twitch. It was all about the flickers, the tiny things, the small things.

This time, instead of defense, I decided that I would go on the offensive. A lunge with the blades in an arc that whistled through the wind, then the other sword in another arc. Ezra blocked each thin sword with his own quite gracefully, dodging.

My grip on the Aethimor swords tightened. Another arc with the sword, but it felt more tired. I was tired.

"What did I tell you?" Ezra's copperish brown eyes met mine again. "Relax. The swords are a part of you, not going to kill you. You don't need to strangle them."