"Raise your sword to block! No, up more! Yeah, that's it!" Martyn called as they sparred. Ridgedog's muscles cried in agony, yet Martyn haven't even broken a sweat. He insisted that they practice until Ridge became competent with a sword, even if his injury heals during that time.
"If you're going to strike, do it like this." Martyn shot forward with his sword and rapped Ridgedog on the side with the flat of the blade. Instinctively, Ridge recoiled, but he nodded to show that he understood.
Ridge envied the way Martyn moved with a blade in his hand. The forest spirit's movement flowed smoothly, gracefully even, through the air, with great speed and agility. Ridge, on the other hand, often felt sore and bruised after each day of sparring. His left arm burned after holding a heavy sword for a while, and his movements were clumsy and slow, the complete opposite of the forest spirit's.
Martyn said it was the Elven blood that gave him an upper hand in sparring. His reflexes were lighting fast, and his strength unmatched to a mortal man's. Even his sensitive Elf ears gave him an advantage. The forest spirit alone could've defeated an entire peasant army, but instead he chose to live the peaceful life. It amazed Ridge.
During that period of time, the two of them replanted saplings, caught food, and explored the wilderness during the day and sparred under the stars. It soon became their regular routine.
They started practicing with the bow alongside the sword a month into their training. Ridge proved to be a bit better at aiming, and before long, his accuracy was as good as Martyn's.
It happened slowly, but soon Ridgedog was able to hold his own in their daily sparring. Gradually, he developed strength and speed that rivaled Martyn's, but never surpassed it. His natural analysis and observation skills, along with his cunning and creativity, gave him new ideas and tactics to use against the forest spirit, always keeping him on his toes. Soon, he was as skilled with his left hand as he was his right.
When the two of them sparred, they were like a pair of perfectly matched blades, neither having a distinct advantage above the other. That left it down to whoever could think of the most complex, creative attacks to hurl at their opponents. Recently, a great number of their duels became draws.
One night by the fire, Ridgedog was sparring with Martyn. The two of them held blunt, wooden swords, so an accidental swing wouldn't hurt as much as a real sword would. They eyed each other up, each one looking for any small sign that would give the other's intentions away.
It happened so fast, but Ridgedog saw it coming. Martyn crouched low and swung at his exposed legs. The teenager jumped back to avoid the swing, and Martyn quickly followed up with a feint to the legs again, but changed direction at the last time and stabbed at his stomach. Ridge quickly raised his sword at met Martyn's sword point just inches in front of his once-exposed abdomen.
Their graceful dance stretched into long, exciting minutes. Ridge and Martyn smiled at each other; it was clear that the two of them enjoyed the exhilaration and anticipation. They were so focused on their fight that they didn't even notice a small figure hiding in the undergrowth, watching them with great interest. The shadow of Ridgedog fell upon the bush for a split second, and when it moved away, the figure was gone.
I'm so sorry, I'm don't have enough time to write a full chapter, so this will have to do for the time being. I'll release another full chapter when I can, but don't expect it to be soon. Drop in a review if you want, and thanks for reading! (I had a lot of fun writing this mini-chapter, kudos to you if you know who the strange figure is!)
Havs, out!