Authors Note: *rises from the grave to a standing position directly from a laying position like a vampire* Hello my readers, I am back! In case you were wondering, the first week of winter semester went fabulous, and I got a 90 on my first test of the semester! In other good news, we should officially be back to the every-Saturday-posting-schedule. Also, I thought you might want to know, that with this chapter we have now reached more than 20,000 words - not counting Authors notes. I think that's pretty cool.
Back to feeling grumpy, Snow retraced her steps back toward her room so she could wash her cut. She realized, now, that Redease had upset her because she was still reeling over the shock of what Grenarin had told her earlier. She told herself quite firmly that Redease would not be able to rile her up so easily again. She had more self control than that, thank you very much.
Upon reaching her room she stood in front of the mirror above the washbin, and took the cut out of her mouth. She couldn't see it. She frowned and checked the underside of her hand – not really expecting to find anything, more of an automatic reaction. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there. It occurred to her that she could not feel the cut either. It appeared to have healed itself in the minute or two it took her to travel across the house. Reflexively, she checked the other side again. Finally, because doing nothing seemed wrong – she washed her hands in the basin.
Then she slowly sat back onto the bed, in an attempt to reconcile yet another surprising piece of information. At the rate she was going she would learn a dozen shocking things before lunch! She sat thus for several minutes – brain whirring away and looking out the window, without really seeing it. Finally, however, the continual tink-ing sounds from outside pulled her out of her reverie, and she stood up to get a better look out the window.
It was Whitaran and Navormal, out on the front lawn, unmistakably practicing swordplay. Snow knew little about swordplay. Everything she did know came from watching her older brothers and father without them realizing. She always thought it was like a dance, two people responding to each others actions, except that a swordfight was deadly. It always seemed more interesting to her than the waltzes she had to learn. She also thought it was better to watch. A contest of skill inspires far more effort than an exhibition of accomplishment. It was such a shame there were so few contests of arms compared to the sheer number of parties she was expected to attend.
That said – though she could not say what makes a sword master, she could tell when two masters were dueling each other. They had a rhythmic back and forth that novices didn't. When the rhythm fell apart, that is when one would win. As Snow watched Whitaran and Navormal in their swordplay, she could see their rhythm, but something still seemed off. As she watched, the sun caught on one of their swords, and she realized it looked too short. Noticing that and watching closer – she thought (wasn't sure – mind you) that they weren't wielding them the same way that her brothers did.
She tried to pin down what they were doing differently, but it kept eluding her. Suddenly, the rhythm vanished so quickly it was visually jarring, and Navormal went one way, and his sword the other. Whitaran advanced toward Navormal, holding his sword in such a way that for just a moment it seemed as though he was going to plunge it into him. Instead, Whitaran sunk gracefully onto one knee while planting his sword into the ground. Navormal stood up, brushed himself off, and without a backward glance, walked back toward the house, leaving his sword in the grass.
Whitaran stood. Though he was far enough away that Snow couldn't have seen his face – even if he had been looking at her, he still looked tense. Snow suddenly had a thought. She had always wanted to learn swordplay. There was a sword master with an extra sword just standing there. It couldn't hurt to try. Snow turned from the window and dashed down the stairs, slowing to a quick trot as she exited the house and headed toward Whitaran in the middle of the lawn.