Auris of the Thousand Names: A Weaver's Chronicle

Aelid

"Stormchild, your posture."

Reddawn steps forward from where she's been observing, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders and drawing them back.

"Your feet are too close together again—you need a good base to work from, lest you do your foe's work for them."

Auris frowns at her mother's touch, the longsword in her hand drifting down as she adjusts her stance.

"Now, again."

Auris raises the sword, stares balefully at the sack of pine needles serving as a training dummy, then steps, swinging, striking the dummy, and draws back.

Reddawn hums in thought.  "No, I can see that won't do.  You're still putting yourself off balance.  Try your other hand."

Auris passes the sword to her left hand, reversing her stance, giving her mother a doubtful—if brief—look.  Then she's examining her hand, focused on getting a proper grip, familiarizing herself with the feel of it.

"Enough.  Act."

And she does, springing forward and striking the dummy's waist, and Reddawn smiles.

"There it is," Reddawn says, stepping forward to kneel by her daughter's side.  She gestures along Auris' arm and the length of the sword, still held against the dummy.  "You feel how it's all part of one motion?  How it all flows together, one step to the next?"

"I guess..."

"You've a natural feel for it when you aren't overthinking it."

"But I have to think about it!"

"Think with all of yourself.  Your arms have as much to tell you as your eyes."

Auris sighs, the sword's tip gradually falling until it rests on the ground.  "Can you show me again?"

"Of course."

Auris moves aside as Reddawn rises to her feet, drawing the massive claymore from her back in an effortless gesture.  Reddawn pauses, sword held before her, then steps with her right foot, bringing the sword to bear against the dummy's side, steps back, repeats with her left...

"Amaa, no!  How you did it before!"

Reddawn chuckles.  "Ah, does our friend need a haircut?  Is that what you're saying?"

Auris grins, nearly bouncing in her excitement.  "Yes, yes!"  She quickly gathers a handful of fallen pine needles and Reddawn lifts her up so she can stuff them into the jagged top of the post, such that they stick up like straightened, over-greased hair.  Then, taking up her sword, Reddawn faces the dummy once more.  She's about to move, when: "Wait!  You have to do it properly!"

"Oh?  And what does that mean?"

"You're going to battle!  You have to do it properly!"

"I see..."  Erasing the smile from her face, Reddawn stares at the dummy, and raises her sword to point at it.  "You have come here against my orders, Treekin Tribeless.  I exiled you for your foul deeds, yet you dare to show your face in these parts again?  Know that I am Medb Reddawn Oretharos, chieftain of that tribe, bearer of the sword Raanu.  I have claimed victory in nearly as many battles as my mother, the fearsome Bloodsinger, and I will not tolerate disobedience."  As the last syllable leaves her mouth, she swings, the claymore flashing through the air, a blur of motion over in an instant as she draws back and rests the flat of the blade against her shoulder.

The pine needles flutter to the ground in so many miniscule pieces.

Applause fills the air.  "I want to do that, Amaa!"

"Keep practicing, and you can."  With a flick of her wrist, Reddawn flourishes the claymore and resettles it in its sheath.  She approaches her daughter and taps her on the forehead.  "Everything you need is right here; practice, and it will show."

"But that takes so long..."

"All things take time."

"Can't you teach me faster?"

Reddawn laughs.  "I'm afraid that's not how it works.  Perhaps we should start calling you Impatience, hm?"

"Grandmother Bloodsinger calls me Aelid," Auris says proudly.

"Like the river?  Aye, there's a good name for you—rushing ever on without a thought."

Auris crosses her arms with a defiant pout, chin tilted up.  "She says it's because I'm strong and beautiful and fast."

"And so you are, Aelid Stormchild.  You've the force of the river in your spirit, but you need to pace yourself.  Your passion will serve you well, but it's good to take a deep breath once in a while."

"Aye, Amaa..."

"Come, now, let us be done for the day.  Ula Weaver has finally completed her telling of Stonecrest's journey."

Auris perks up at the promise of a story, and happily follows her mother into the village.