With a final shout, Bash KICKED her opponent very squarely in the chest, sending him SPRAWLING to the grass, where she rested the toe of her boot just barely above his throat, giving him no room to move. Her wooden sword, WEIGHTED down with a lead core, was held loosely in her hand –– she’d won, and her posture was almost lazy in victory. ❝ YIELD, ❞ she demanded evenly, her voice RASPY and coated with smugness. When the boy on the ground did in fact yield, she grinned, lifting her foot and REACHING down to help him up. After thanking him for sparring with her, she sent him back to his guard post and STRETCHED her shoulder, turning to head back to the castle. Francisque, standing there with a hand on her hip, made Bastienne jump, her sword clattering down onto the path. ❝ Mon Dieu, little sister, a WARNING would have been nice! ❞ she gasped, grinning at her sister’s tight CORSET and skirts, and THANKING their lord and savior that she had escaped their father’s notice this morning long enough to don breeches and a tunic. ❝ Did you need something, then? ❞