"No, you're doing it wrong. Put your weight into the strike, but stay on the balls of your tiny feet, human." Jonquil slowly swung the wooden blade, and Felix raised his shield to block it with a dull thunk. She raised her own shield in the path of his counter cut, a sloppy and predictable overhead swing. "Better", she admitted as she felt the weight behind the blow, "But you swing like a butcher hacking at meat. Swordplay is four parts grace and one part strength. Do you think your master is such a good fighter because of the strength in her arms? No, she has speed, and balance, and accuracy. These are the things you must master, little one, and keep your feet spread apart. "
She tapped the inside of his knees with the tip of her sword, and he spread his feet. As Felix huffed a lock of black hair out of his flushed face and frowned in frustration, Jonquil's eyes narrowed. "In fact, I think this is too simple for your human mind. Just stick them with the pointy end, remember that." She spun and slashed the wooden blade out of his hand with a clack, and it went spiraling off into the bushes. A light rain began to fall from the cloudy skies, soaking them even through the overhead branches. "We're done for today," she snorted. The little human boy gathered up his training sword and his dignity, following her through the jungle as she strode off back towards their dwelling.
Jonquil was, in truth, a master spear wielder; the best in her clan, and some even joked that she was born holding a spear. Jonquil herself could not say if that was true, but she'd been holding a spear as long as she could remember, hunting young boars and spearing round juicy fruit from cacti as a teen. But as a mercenary she was no stranger to swords, knives, axes, or longbows either. Jonquil quickly learned that in the heat of battle it was easy to lose your weapon, and you often had to make due with whatever you could find, be it from a fallen foe or a live one. In fact, most of her battles were fought with stolen weapons rather than her famous spear, Serpents Tongue, so named for the way it darted out to prick her opponents in their weak spots. She cringed at the thought, remembering that Ala'na had snapped her spear in half over her knee. She'd recovered the broken shaft and replaced it with a light oaken one, fastening the leaf-shaped steel spearhead to the new one. She tore the red strip of cloth from the old one, too, and tied it around the head of the new spear. She had neglected to tell Ala'na about that, though, for fear that she might take it from her. Let her try, Jonquil reflected, her pride flaring.
Ala'na hadn't woken since they seared her stump shut and wrapped it in clean linen almost ten days ago, and Jonquil feared that she was developing a strong fever. The boy was near her almost every hour of every day, standing over her unconscious form and biting his lip, Ala'na all wrapped in furs and bandages. Her pulse was faint, too, as if her very life barely clung on. Her face was scarred, too, but her troll's blood managed to regenerate most of that. As far as Jonquil knew, orcs were always jealous of trolls for that very reason. Orcs were stronger and sturdier in general, but trolls were faster and lankier, with better hearing and blood that could regenerate almost any wound. Still, the scar was there, beginning a hair under her left eyebrow and crossing the bridge of her nose, ending on the right side of her jaw, and no amount of troll's blood could regenerate the arm that ended in a stump at the wrist. Her great albino panther was nowhere to be seen, either, and he hadn't even participated in the battle with the two humans. That bothered Jonquil greatly, but for what reason she could not say.
They neared their dwelling, a small cave hidden in a cleft of rock overlooking a small pond and surrounded by trees. As Jonquil began to tread uphill towards the cave mouth with Felix right behind her, she considered ditching the both of them for the thousandth time. Felix didn't have the power to stop her, and neither did the unconscious Ala'na. Without her and that thrice-damned button that she pressed to electrocute them, Jonquil could leave whenever she wanted. As a mercenary she had often been forced to leave her own brothers to die hundreds of times, for promises of gold or promises of glory, and even to turn her cloak and slay the men who fought with her not even a day past. Such is the life of a mercenary, Jonquil reflected. A hard, hard life, with no room for emotion.
And yet she was still here, with the cripple and the boy, Jonquil being the lone thing that stood between them and death. The boy depended on her to hunt and fish, to defend them when beasts came to their lair, to lead him through the jungle where he would've been lost for months. Ala'na needed to be fed and cleaned, her bandages swapped out and washed, her wounds cared for. Jonquil could not say why she stayed when it would be easier to go. They needed her and she did not need them, so why didn't she leave? It was a simple thought, and yet the more she thought about it the more complicated it became. Jonquil was not a hero, not a caretaker, not a saint. No bard would sing of her great feats in battle, no mother would tell stories to their young about Jonquil's courage and strength and cunning. Some women were born for greatness, and Jonquil did not feel that she was one of them, nor did she want to be. I am a mercenary, that's all I've ever been and that's all I will ever be. But still she could not bring herself to leave. She ducked under the entrance of the cave mouth and entered, Felix right huffing and puffing behind her. The boy was small and skinny, but by no means in shape.
Ala'na was bundled up near the smoldering remains of the fire in a cocoon of furs, laying on her back with her legs sprawled out. Her lips were parted as she breathed slowly, her face flushed and feverish, and she'd kicked off part of the furs as she'd slept. Beneath, her azure bottom was bare and visible, heart-shaped and tight and illuminated by the fire, her sex framed with the same thick mane of red hair on her head. Even her cheeks had a hint of fevered redness. Jonquil felt the color rising to her cheeks, her heart beat quickening. Dropping the training sword, she crossed the cave quickly and pulled the furs down to cover Ala'na's legs and what lay between them. Glancing up, she realized that she'd pulled it down too far. Her breasts were spilled out now, the nipples round and hard and pink, rising and falling with every breath she took. Jonquil flushed, pulling the covers back up to conceal her bosom.
When Jonquil turned, she saw Felix standing there, his eyes wide and round like eggs. Jonquil slapped her forehead. The gods are cruel to inflict these two on me. The boy was gaping and frozen in place as if he'd seen someone with two heads, and color began to rise in his pale face. He seemed to have forgotten that he was tired from the climb. "Uh," Jonquil started. "How old are you, exactly?"
He composed himself, cleared his throat, and said "Fifteen."
Jonquil wasn't sure how long it took for humans to mature, but he seemed to not comprehend what he'd just seen. Jonquil sighed, wondering how a battle-hardened orcish mercenary would look giving the birds-and-the-bees talk to a human boy. It was too comical, and she would've laughed if she wasn't so flustered. "God damn it," she spat.