Thursday, August 17, 2017

A Long Way

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[105] Nymaya: A Long Way
Sat Aug 31 01:32:12 2013
To: Ashtiel All
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There was a hollow sound to the wide, empty-feeling chamber. 

Built with black granite, it had a prevalent chill to accompany the hollow but its floor was crafted with long planks of dark wood.  Racks of weapons, both steel and rattan, stood at various points along the circular walls, armor padding was displayed on stands and life-like targets made of wood or straw awaited with many a scar adorning them. 

She was uniquely familiar with this room and she lifted her gaze up, to study the light filtering in through the high-set windows. 

The sound of bare steel clearing one of the racks brought her attention back down and she met the small, confident smile of her daughter, now standing across from her.  The mere sight of Ash was enough to bring about an answering smile and without pause, she reached back over her shoulder to draw the sword that had once sang. 

Every time it left its sheath she could hear remembered strains of the bladesong, but in the presence of her daughter she pushed past the distraction and held the blade out to her side. 

"We've come a long way from the practice blades." She said, her voice pitched low. 

Her daughter answered with a smile and an elegant attack.  Three parries rang through the room, almost musical in the quality of their sound and then an empty 'woosh' when she evaded the last. 

The slow predatory circling of combatants began then and she studied Ashtiel, watching for the tell-tale ticks that would let her know what was coming.  Ash's blade was lifted, its tip up and threatening.  She kept her own lowered, taunting, and didn't have to wait long for the next attack. 

They danced then, across the wooden floor and back.  A combination of grace and halting, harsh movements always accompanied by the ring of metal meeting metal.  Strangely simple and yet vastly complex, the art had ever called to her and she was pleased to see just how much their daughter had absorbed.

All such pride slipped away as the minutes progressed and their spar grew increasingly more intense.  The light air disappeared and before long, every strike and slash - every thrust and parry - became an extension of the abundant, unvoiced, emotion that certainly hid beneath the surface. 

She spun around her agile daughter and her sword blade slapped resoundingly off the younger opponent's thigh but before she had time to regroup, Ash spun low and took her legs out.  Nymaya fell hard but rolled as soon as she hit the ground and the sound of her blade catching Ash's follow-through rang angrily about the chamber.  She was barely able to stand and turn before Ash was upon her again, her sword leading the way.  Back and forth they went, no longer mother and daughter.  Not even student and veteran.  But beings of anger, caught in a place and time they had little control over.  Bound by the constraints of blood and upbringing. 

And so all the elegance of swordplay departed, until there was only the brutal bashing of blade against blade.  Until they both stood breathless and battered by one another, drained and bleeding and done. 

Ashtiel's long black hair had come free of its binding and she was certain she looked just as disheveled.  The pride returned though. 

"We should do this more often." Ash remarked with a breathless grin that was a little hard around the edges and turned to replace her weapon on the wooden rack. 

Nymaya met her grin with one of her own and sheathed her blade sharply.  "I'll see you soon.  I'm sure you have business at the guillotine."

The strut of her daughter and the following smirk as she turned to depart confirmed her rib and she followed Ash out of the sparring chamber with a low laugh.

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