It would perhaps be best to describe Ammeline's response as disappointment. She crossed her arms, staring at the elven sorceress with half lidded eyes, her gaze dripping with disdain.

"Oh dear," she sighed. Well you're certainly putting a lot of effort into your dialogue, sweetie. I'm sure you'll get there eventually."

"Hey!" Sylvanandra hissed. "No judging my quips!"

"If you don't want them to get judged you shouldn't say them. And maybe you shouldn't say them at all. I mean, I'll admit to having chuckled at phallic humor once or twice in the past that was very weak. I'm not even holding my weapon at the moment. So if I don't have my own symbolic phallus, what is yours bigger THAN? It might have worked if I were one of the men, just barely, but under the circumstances it was mostly sad."

Sylvanandra opened her mouth to speak, but Ammeline cut her off.

"No, there isn't any way to make a joke on that sentence turning "circumstances" into "circumcised" so don't even try."

"Oh shut up!" Sylvanandra glared at her. "You don't know! You don't know that's what I was going to say! And who the hell are you to judge my fight dialogue anyway?"

"Ahahahahahahahaha!" Ammeline laughed triumphantly, striking a pose with her foot up on a fallen log. "I am Ammeline Trent! A true American princess! Writer of wrongs! Warrior for justice! Future United States senator! And the woman who will defeat you!"

Sylvanandra flourished her blade of eerie shadows.

"And how are you going to do that without your weapon?"

"Iiiiiiiiiii will think of something!"

Sylvanandra sneered and lunged with the shadowy blade. Ammeline ducked out of the way and hurried off into the forest.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"You can't run forever!!" Sylvanandra called after her, but Ammeline had a fencers quick movements and was able to lose the elf in the foliage. For now. She was under no illusion she could avoid the clash forever. She just had to find a way to win it, that was all.

Magic had come very easily to Ammeline Trent. In the end it fit her self image, to have magical powers. She'd accepted things when her powers first manifested readily, and the part of her that had dreamed of becoming some heroic knight when she first picked up a fencing sword had rejoiced. It wasn't a fantasy anymore.

But of course that came with a price. This wasn't a tournament when a loss would mean no medal and a disappointed team. She could die. Others could die. She'd wanted to be a hero fighting great battles, and it was time to put her money where her mouth was. Which was fair enough, but in all of those heroic fantasies she'd always had her sword.

"I wish I had my sword!" Ammeline muttered aloud.

"We can't give it to you!" A tiny voice said. Three tiny voices, in unison. Ammeline followed the noise and saw the three tiny women she'd seen before. Forest spirits, she thought the elf had called them? Whatever they were they looked almost guilty.

"Why not?" Ammeline asked. "Is it because you're loyal to elves?"

"Nope!"

Nuh uh!"

"No way! Elves are big jerks actually. We're hoping you win."

"So why did you steal it for her?"

"Because she's Leaftouched."

"Old magic."

"One with the woods. We have to listen to her."

So not an elf thing, just a magic thing. Alright. Not much help there.

"But it's okay!

"She messed up!"

"We stole the wrong sword!"

"What do you mean?"

"It's not even sharpened!

"Not magical at all!"

"Just a stick, really. That can't be the weapon she was worried about!"

"Oh!" Ammeline said, the pieces clicking into place I'm her head. "Oh you're right! It's not! HEY! ELF! I want to talk with you!"

"There you are!" Sylvanandra hopped down from the treetops, still clutching her shadowy blade. She was a good distance away from Ammeline, having passed her while Ammeline was talking to the spirits, but she closed the distance quickly. Ammeline reached down, picking something off the forest floor and bringing it up, blocking at the last moment a strike that would have taken off her head.

"A stick!?" The elf gasped in fury and confusion. "How are you blocking my shadow sword with a stick!?"

"You should know more about magic than me. But as I understand it, I just need a weapon to focus my magic. It doesn't have to be specifically my fencing sword. Anything I can fence with is fine!"

The two of them clashed, shadow blade blocked at every turn by a stick picked up off the ground.

"The rest of it is the fencing skill I've picked up through years! You're not so tough, I could beat you with a twig!"

"No! I refuse! I don't care if this is my weakest duplicate I will not be beaten with a stick!"

Sylvanandra screamed and swung wide with the sword, the shadows that made it up billowing like smoke. The blade grew huge, slicing through trees around them...but leaving Ammeline untouched. She ducked under the blade and thrust a dozen times with her stick, poking ugly wounds in the elf replica's body. The sorceress struggled to her feet, but Ammeline was already standing over her holding the trunk of one of the smaller trees Sylvanandra had just cut down. Energy crackled around the lof, forming the shape of a gigantic cleaver.

"Oh and before I forget...mine's bigger."

Ammeline brought the log down on Sylvanandra's head with crushing finality.