Lenaria gave her swords a few swings before sheathing them and leaving the smithy. Ezril walking beside her returned greetings as the soldiers offered them. In the beginning they had drawn constant stares whenever they walked, the sisters surprised to find Lenaria capable of having a friend and one so close at that and the soldiers shocked to find the first bow capable of walking with someone who wore neither cassock nor the priestly war cloak. Now, however, all they were accorded was the occasional glances from the few who still found some form of amusement from it.

“You’re aware you will have to return to the encampment,” Ezril said after they’d covered some distance.

It was not the first time he was addressing the topic, and he was fairly certain it would not be the last. Contrary to what Sister Alanna thought, he had on more than one occasion reminded Lenaria that the church’s orders were important, despite how much she didn’t like them. Still, whenever he spoke of it Lenaria would give him the same answer: “If Rin wants me on the battlefield so badly, she’ll come and drag me to it. Until then, I’ll do whatever I want.”

Before long Ezril spotted Salem at a small gathering with some soldiers. His brother was spinning his poleaxe in preparation.

Letting the topic lie, knowing very well he would bring it up again, he gravitated towards Salem, and Lenaria followed.

Salem spotted his approach and strolled casually towards them. His hand reached for one of his Sunders while the other continued to twirl his poleaxe. It was a subtle combination, the ease with which his body moved despite the danger it carried. Ezril, again, found himself wondering just how royal the blood in Salem had to be for the seminary to fail to dispel the signs in his behavior.

“Catch!”

The command came in an instant. Ezril reacted just as quickly. His hand shot out, reaching before him before he realized what he was intended to catch. He shifted his body to the side as his grip came in contact with the hilt of the weapon as it passed him. Its weight threatened to take him with it. Turning his arm, he altered the direction of the weapon, ignoring the pain that seemed to crawl into his shoulder from his resistance. The Sunder barely completed an arc in his turn before he stabilized it.

“Still as sharp as ever,” Salem commented on his arrival.

Ezril swung his brother’s Sunder out of habit. Its weight was significantly more than his. “Perhaps the next time you attempt such a test you’d give me a warning, brother.”

“I did.”

Ezril cocked a brow. “‘Catch’ does not a warning make.”

Salem shrugged, retrieving his blade from Ezril. “It sufficed, did it not?”

Finding the absence of compulsion to continue the line of conversation, Ezril sighed in submission and changed the topic, addressing what was on his mind. “What’s happening?”

Salem spared the gathering behind him a glance before swiveling it back to Ezril. It was a gathering of great mass, soldiers gathered in their numbers, armored or not they stood, jeering, cheering, chanting old songs it seemed only soldiers knew. They were riling themselves up in an unavoidable rancor. The crowd was chaotic and at least a third of the fort’s soldiers were present in it.

“Oh, that?” Salem looked back, then at him. “The scouts brought back news that a Titan was spotted within the forest. The Lord Commander has instructed it be found.”

“He’s sacrificing soldiers for war to kill a Titan?” Ezril asked, baffled.

“All the men you see are volunteering,” Salem said. “And he wants the Titan captured alive. Something about a grand plan that I could care nothing for. I’m fairly certain most of these men know nothing about it. Wouldn’t you care to join, brother?” he asked. “It’s not every day you get to see a live Titan. Or hunt one.”

Perhaps not, but Ezril had seen more than enough for his lifetime. One was a small number but for the likes of a Titan, one was a more than sufficient number.

Ezril shook his head. “A priest is more than enough. Besides, I have seen my fair share of Titans.” He turned his attention to Lenaria, offering her a silent version of the invitation Salem had given him. As expected, she rejected it.

Ezril’s attention swiveled back to Salem. “Why isn’t Olufemi a part of this?”

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Salem shrugged. “Why does our brother do the things he does when you’re not involved?”

“True,” Ezril agreed. “And Takan? This sounds like something he would love.”

“He turned down my invitation. Somehow I’m beginning to think our brother has a fear of larger animals.”

We have Shade to thank for that… “… it always seemed like one of the things he always wanted to do.”

“We could never shut him up when he used to talk about how he would slay one with his bare hands back then,” Salem reminisced with a smile. He blinked, as if shaking off the memory. “I guess people change. I have to go now.”

He turned to leave and bade them farewell. It wasn’t long before he disappeared into the mass of soldiers.

“Is it your injuries?”

Ezril turned to find Lenaria observing him. “My injuries are fine,” he answered.

“Then why did you have trouble catching the Sunder?” she asked, her face taking up a worried expression. “You also don’t use yours with as much ease as your brothers.”

“Because I’m no good with a sword,” he told her. “My choice of weapon will always be the bow.”

Lenaria watched him a while longer through narrowed lids. Her forehead wrinkled as it always did whenever she was asked a difficult question back in Green Horn, or when she thought she was being lied to. Eventually, she accepted his words, relaxing her gaze, the worry slipping from her face.

“I can teach you, y’know.”

Ezril pondered on it for the briefest moment before giving his answer.

“No.”

A smile played on Lenaria’s lips, but she said nothing.

They continued their stroll. She could goad him all she wanted, but he would not accept her offer. Regardless of all the seminary had put him through, there was no part of him that believed himself capable of surviving her training.

Not after what he’d seen.

..................................

Ezril wondered at how he had gotten himself in this situation and, having no reason, blamed it on his curiosity.

He spun out of Lenaria’s reach, escaping her grip by a hair’s breadth. It was all he could do now, having had most of his attacks easily evaded, or stopped.

Her size does no credit whatsoever, he complained as she came at him again.

He slapped her fist to the side, raising his hand to protect his head from the heel that came at it, swung from below. It hit with the force of a battering ram. He stopped the blow, still, it cost him two steps from where he’d stood. He staggered back, regained composure.

Lenaria hopped to the side and he darted quickly, covering the distance between them. Fist clenched, he struck true. She evaded him easily, a joy on her face. She closed in for a counter attack and he stepped to the side. The move almost cost him his footing. He forced himself into balance and returned to a defensive stance.

Somehow, he came away still on his feet.

“You’re too stiff,” Lenaria observed, still beaming from having gotten him on the training ground despite all his refusal. It was a simple enough room in the fort with enough sand scattered across the floor to cushion almost any fall. It was also, luckily, private, secluded from where the soldiers commonly used.

“What did we agree on?” he asked between breaths.

Lenaria pouted, as a child would, having been called on her bad behavior. “I wouldn’t make any comments,” she mumbled.

“Good.”

It was already enough that he had to suffer the humiliation of being unable to land a blow even as she held back, he didn’t need her teaching him how to fight, too.

He went at her again.

Still smiling, she indulged him. Their bodies slapped against each other as they wrestled. His feet found leverage in the sand. He attempted to pick her off the ground. For a woman so small, she refused to budge. They broke apart for a split moment. Repositioning his footing, he saw his chance and took it.

He reached for her waist. Lenaria lowered her stance slightly in response. Everything else happened quickly. She locked his arm by the elbow, imprisoning it in the crook of hers. One hand gripped his upper arm. She slipped her other hand beneath his armpit. It found leverage on his back. Head poised against his chest just beneath his chin, her next move was a blur. Legs apart, back arched low, she twisted her upper body. And he went with it. The impact was loud, like a fallen boulder. The ground was hard beneath all the sand. An instant later Ezril’s back echoed the pain in his head.

He laid there, unmoving.

Ezril opened his eyes and watched Lenaria beam at him like a child who’d just done something praise-worthy and was expecting a reward. It was childish. It was adorable. No one would believe the girl beaming at him with such happiness had just wiped the floor with him.

He rose to his feet, dusting off his brown trouser.

She rushed to him and stopped short. “Did you see that? Did you see that?” She smiled widely at him, excited, oblivious to the pain he was in.

He smiled, unable to hold any anger or resentment towards her. “I saw.”

She continued to smile up at him, a hint in her eyes, like a child wanting something but refusing to say what it was.

His smile grew fonder. He placed his hand on her head, rubbing her hair gently. He wasn’t happy with his defeat, but he was more than impressed by what she was capable of.

She closed her eyes and sighed in satisfaction.

No one would believe the girl beaming with satisfaction beneath his hand had just floored him with relative ease. He still found it hard to believe. Somewhere in the recess of his mind a voice called out for vengeance, retribution. It demanded he challenge her and rectify what had just happened.

He ignored it.

Stupidity was known to present itself in different ways.

When Lenaria opened her eyes and looked up at him, still smiling but saying nothing, he left his hand to its task, not wanting to take away the look in her eyes. She looked so happy, so innocent. No one would believe she was the same priestess that wrought great carnage on the battlefield.

He made time over the days that came to indulge her in friendly combat as her whims requested. And as had been the case, he never won.