she’s come down to watch them train, this new generation of warriors, their bodies like liquid light in the midday sun, sweat on their brows, their wrists, dampening the handles of blades spun through the air. in their hands, it looks effortless, as natural as breathing, and none more natural than the tall blonde girl with arms like steel. val slips down from her perch, her makeshift look-out post, crosses the arena while a bitter melancholy pools in her throat. she remembers days when her hands were likewise bloodied, when her muscles strained with the exhilaration of war.
she yanks astrid’s axe from the practice shield, hefts its weight between her hands before she hands it back, mouth for a long moment just a slash across her face, and then she says, “ i’m sorry i couldn’t save you, any of you, from this life of war. ”
@matnadr
