Zara noticed that her arms hurt less, the past days gifting her strength through hard work and callouses, her tan that distanced her from the court’s ideal returned slowly but steadily and she could feel her muscles getting harder and wound tighter around her bones. The enemy she was carving has taken shape a day ago and she was starting to imagine his face.

It was early morning and she was about to start her training for the day and sculpt the enemy’s face when Walker called out to her.

“Before you start Zara Sarff,” Walker called from her side.

He was sitting where he usually sat when she trained, a few feet from her and to the side so that he could see her strikes and cuts, remind her she wasn’t using her off-hand sword enough and sometimes stand with his hands out as if he was holding a sword with his eyes closed and slowly moving from a block into a parry, into a neutral stance and back to sitting and watching her. Zara didn’t know why he did that, yet.

“I think you should start to carve the face of your enemy, but I will show you who they are.” He finished.

That was odd. He never “told” her to do anything, he would answer when she asked or give a comment that would help with her training but never as directly as now.

Walker pulled his water skin of his belt and put a wooden bowl, Zara never saw before now, in front of himself then he motioned her to sit opposite him with the bowl between them. She did as he asked and sat comfortably, and waited for Walker to continue.

He poured the water into the bowel until the water threatened spill out, and then let droplets gently fall onto the surface until the edge of the water reached the outer rim of the bowl and water started to gently curve upwards. When he was done she could see the way the curved surface wobbled as the placid spring winds blew across it.

Then Walker motioned for her to look into the bowl and she did, sceptically, she heard of Mages scrying on friends and enemies trough mirrors and lakes, but Walker never struck her as a Mage, though Mages rarely showed themselves to counts or kings so she didn’t know how a mage was supposed to look like.

What she saw was unexpected and painfully ordinary at the same time. She saw her face, dirty, tired, sweat covered from a day of swinging two swords at a tall tree stump and framed with messily growing white, matted with dirt and woodchips, hair. Has it been that long? Her hair was reaching past her shoulders now, and she knew that it took her hair far longer than other girls’ to grow as much as this. Time seemed to flow faster around her while she swung her swords.

Then, finally, her mind acknowledged what she was looking at and that there won’t be any magical vision or image appearing in the bowl of water, which confused her. So she looked to Walker for an explanation.

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No explanation was given and the little prick had the gall to look like he said something truly deep and righteous. Zara knew what she had to do, she hated it less than at the beginning, but asking for help was still unnatural to her. So she took a deep breath of annoyance and looked into the bowl and said.

“I only see myself.” She said sourly.

“Exactly.” Was the only answer she got from Walker.

She rolled her eyes, and her reflection rolled its eyes at her. She looked up at Walker patience slipping into annoyance and tensed her jaw. He was, as always, unmoved by her aggression. So she asked again.

“Can you explain?”

Not missing a beat Walker said “You are your greatest enemy, rival and ally so you must carve yourself so that you may learn your weaknesses, strengths and so you may always have someone to test yourself against perfectly matched in skill and strength.”

Zara was quiet, mulling what Walker said over in her mind. She could see his logic somewhat, his training wasn’t just to teach her how to swing a sword for a long time, or swing a sword accurately, it was to give her a way to improve herself at both of those constantly and continuously.

She nodded then both to herself and to Walker, than she stood up and faced the faceless simulacrum of a human she freed from the log. She imagined herself standing opposite her, and swung her primary sword at her target intending to start her training but just a hair’s breadth from striking she halted her swing. This won’t work. she thought, I’ll cut to deep. And it will ruin all the work I did until now.

She stepped back reassessing her task. Then she moved back a step, set her right foot towards the wooden manikin toes pointing a line to her target, putting her weight on the ball of her left foot, she took a breath of air, emptying herself of distractions.

Then she lunged. Her body uncoiled, her left leg launching her forward and pitching her forwards, before she could lose balance she stepped off with her right foot. As her legs propelled her, her right arm extended from her side guiding the force she created to the tip of her sword and then to the side of the wooden manikin’s head she wanted to cut.

She could feel the sword bite into the wood but her movements weren’t precise enough and she couldn’t control the tip of her sword correctly and she lost her cut, the sword rebounding to the side accomplishing little.

Then she remembered that her legs were not underneath her but behind her and the wooden enemy stood directly in front of her. She had no way to stop and in the moments it took her to understand her predicament. She rammed her nose, full force, into the hard wood.

Stars and tears filled Zara’s vision. She could taste the familiar tang of iron in her mouth and the warmth of blood gushing from her nose. The pain didn’t hit her right away, but when it did, it hit her hard. It took her longer than she cared to admit to get on her feet again.

Her nose was not broken but it bled all over her face and clothes. Her eyes were still misty from the pain but she could see.

She spat the blood out of her mouth glad that she could feel her teeth all whole, some felt looser though, and then she looked at her enemy. It humiliated her… No, She humiliated her. What she attempted would work she just had to figure it out. And best way to do that was to try again.

So Zara did. Over and over and over again. Until the blood dried and sweat evaporated into salt on her skin.

I. Will. Win. Zara vowed to herself.

In his usual spot a little away from her sat Walker. Looking at Zara’s attempts and nodding once She is progressing nicely. He thought Was this how Master saw me?