Breathe

Chapter 5 - Win

 After we ran through trees as tall as skyscrapers and across barren and weedless hills, we made it to the sunken valley where the river lay. The running stream near us and the chirps of crickets and rustling of animals could be heard all around us.

Finding a clearing void of trees and rocks and other earthly stuff, we stopped there.

"Are you ready?"

I jumped a little and then turned to Newvy, whose outline I could see clearly in the moonlight. His feet were staggered in a way that they were parted more than a hip-length's away and his hips were gently twisted. His arms were raised in a way he kept them close to his ribs yet high enough that he could punch me with ease. His chin was down and tucked near his collarbone.

"What? Oh, yes—I am ready," I responded, shuffling into stance.

As he watched me stagger, he sighed and relaxed. "Alastair, you're doing it wrong."

"What?" I asked, looking up.

He pointed at my feet. "The placement of your feet is off. Angle your feet to the side and put your weight on your heels. Stop putting more weight on your back foot—your weight should be even on both feet." Then, he pointed at my hips. "Pelvis should be parallel to your shoulders. Tense your abs." Finally, he pointed at my arms. "Hands are too low—raise them. Put your arms nearer to your ribs."

I made them hug my body. He shook his head. "Too close. They should be close, but not that close; give it more room."

I slightly pulled them away from my chest. Looking up, I asked, "Is this fine?"

"That's fine. Now, move the rest of your body."

Remembering his words, I followed his suggestions. Looking down at my body, I angled my feet to the side and put weight on my heels and distributed my weight evenly. I shifted my pelvis and tensed my abs. Once I was done, I looked back at him. "Good?"

"Good," he repeated with a slight nod. "Remember that form—it's the most effective fighting stance." Getting into stance, he said, "Now, punch me."

I laughed. "Hit you? Now?"

Still unfazed, he said, "Punch me."

Hesitantly, I ran up to him. I formed a fist and pulled my arm back and swung up. Aiming with my knuckles, I aimed a hook at his torso... and as expected, I missed. At the last minute, without much effort or thought, he moved to the side. My punch hit the air. I stumbled forward. Unclasping my fist, I stared at it in disappointment.

Looking back, I asked, "Why did you move?"

"That wasn't a punch. I asked for a punch—not a hit," he said.

With a deadpan look, I murmured, "Punching is hitting."

"Not all hits are punches," he responded. Pointing at my hand, he said, "Alastair, your thumb was inside your fist—it should be underneath your fingers. Your wrist wasn't straight. If you had hit me, you would be in pain. Also, you didn't punch straight; your arm wasn't level with your shoulders, either."

Sighing, I said, "Newvy, you're killing me."

"You're not going to be able to kill me with that positioning. Also, you asked me to train you—this is how I train: detailing my trainee's mistakes," he stated. "Also, I haven't told you how ineffective your punches are yet."

Oh joy, there's more.

Getting back into stance, he formed fists with his hands. Keeping his arm level with his shoulders, he threw a jab-cross in my direction. I backed away. He did it four more times. Then, he rested his arms down. "The basic one-two is more effective than heavy swings. Not only does it keep your arm straight, but it costs less energy and is harder to predict."

"Jab-cross, huh?" I repeated. Staring at my hands, I re-enacted his sequence. Jab-cross, jab-cross, jab-cross...

"Yes, jab-cross," he repeated.

Once more looking up, I asked, "But wouldn't repeating it over and over again make it predictable?"

"I didn't say to only do the basic one-two."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Rely heavily on the basic one-two but mix in other punches, too," he responded, "Enough that it's harder to predict. But make sure to keep your arm straight."

Mix in other punches, huh? I stared at my hands. So hooks were still okay, as long as I didn't only throw them? I nodded and smiled at him. "Got it. I'll remember that. Now, can we work on kicking?"

He sighed. "Alastair, you can't punch, so how can you possibly kick?"

My face fell. "Are you saying that there's no hope for me?"

He shook his head. "No, that's not it. I am only saying that we should work on your punches first." Getting into stance, he added, "If you want to kick, you will have to punch me first."

Smirking, I got into stance—the one he taught me. "I'll make you eat your words."

A slight smile arrived on his face. "I'll like to see you try."

Fast, I ran up to him. I threw a jab. Effortlessly, he twisted his waist. Shifting his hands, he blocked my punch. With my other hand, I threw a cross. This time, he twisted to the other side. Again, I threw a jab. Miss. And a cross. Miss again. Jab. Miss. Cross. Miss. Jab. Miss. Cross. Miss.

"Are you trying?"

Between huffs, I stated, "Not really. I like punching the air."

Shifting my feet, I turned around behind him. I threw a punch. It only grazed the tips of his hair. He turned around and threw a punch at me. It hit me. Square on the cheek. I fell to the ground.

I touched my injury. "Shit!" I cursed from the shock. All he did was stare at me. With an annoyed look, I more so stated than asked, "I thought you told me to punch you."

"I didn't say I wouldn't retaliate."

"That's cheating!" I exclaimed.

"It's not cheating—I was at risk."

I rolled my eyes. "At risk from what?"

"From you." My eyes widened and my heart lifted. His straight-laced face broke into a smile and he snickered. "Win, I'm joking—your punches weren't that good. Better than Chris's, but not good." My face faltered. "You're getting better." My cheeks lifted.

"Are you saying that I'm becoming good?"

"At fighting?" I nodded. His eyes darted away. "Yes... slowly."

I sighed and rested against my arms. "I'll take that. Melee isn't my strong point. I'm better at shooting."

"You can't shoot everything that moves," he commented.

"Yeah, I can't shoot you," I murmured, "I definitely can't hit you, either."

Squatting to my level, he offered a hand, "One day you'll get there, Win."

I sighed and took his hand. "Today's not the day."

"You'll get there," he repeated.

Standing up with his help, I gave a half-smile. "Do you think so, Newvy?"

His lips stretched and I could see a glimpse of tainted whites. A light flush came to rose his cheeks. His eyes formed soft crescents and in them, I saw galaxies in his eyes. "Win, I know you will."