Sarah On Life

Sarah - On Training

Once again, I'd just like to apologise for the delays in publishing this chapter - trust though, 'Mitch - On the Missing' is so going to be worth when it's finally perfect - thanks no doubt to our beautiful,  soon-to-be guest-writer Toongen. I also want to thank everyone who's been reading! I honestly never thought I'd get so many reads in so little a time. Every one of you guys deserves a pat on the back, so here it is! *Pats you on back*. More recently, this chapter has a whole lot of Sark action, but I know not all of you are going to be as pleased with it as I am. I've been planning one particular scene for weeks! Try to guess which one? 

Tell me what you think!

xoxox

Sir Miffington Quack Quack

______________________________________

Sarah - On Training

Harder.

I kicked the padded bag once more; a guttural sound again escaping from my mouth unwilled. The dim twilight continued to deepen as I continued training, it's progression into the velvet night unstoppable and unnoticed. All thoughts of the bus soon leaving for home were soon, too, pushed to the back of my mind as my vision narrowed ever further.

Faster.

Hit, kick, duck. I punched, hindered and avoided. As I learned quickly, Scar pulled no punches; and nor did Mark. The only girl in our group, I was given no special treatment. No extra consideration.

And I loved every moment.

Stronger.

~*~

Our two chests heaved, only a moment or two away from synchronisation, as we stared. For once there was no flaunted hatred, no fear, no feeling between us. The hints of our scheming were still there, of course. They were there, stronger and more obvious than ever. But this time, we worked as one. I smirked, and even at ten metres distance, our opponent became unbalanced. It was one more weakness that we could exploit.  

Three.

Two.

One.

Always on time, and always predictable, Scar launched himself, sprinting towards us.

"Now!" I shouted. The perfect soldier, Mark twirled gracefully, in that single glorious movement pulling his ruby encrusted sword from its scabbard and settling into a warrior's stance, facing away from Scar in a matter of moments. At the same time, I would begin running, working up enough speed quickly enough that I would twist in the air over Scar's head, avoiding the preliminary attack and ending up behind our attacker. The move defied gravity. Take that, Newton.

I took a moment to steady myself, taking in my immediate surroundings in the dusty storage shed we were training in. "Suck it!" I cried, closing my fist and slamming it into the left side of the back of Scar's head, leaving him dazed, and with just a little permanent damage. Only the unavoidable, of course. With my hit focused on just the right pressure points, for a split second our teacher froze, and that was all I now needed to drop low onto one leg; and to use the other to knock Scar's from beneath him.

 My job was over now. Teamwork, we had been told. Teamwork, we had learned. I rolled away from the dropped body. My hits would hurt, and damage permanently should I want them too. But Mark's badass sword would work just as well, and be a hell of a lot more convenient at the same time. By now, Mark had finished dispatching the warrior-for-hire that had come from the opposite direction - just as we knew he would. This, after all, was a 'trust exercise'. With both opponents now grounded, and one of them subtly tending to a slash wound in their side, Mark pointed his sword at the throat of the ironically named 'Scar'. At least, it seemed pretty funny right then.