She enjoyed his facial expressions, from shock to rage to awe. They ran the gamut as he assailed her. His skill was undeniable. She had the clear advantage with her weapon, yet still he kept her on the defensive time and time again, her far inferior skill losing her what may have been a more even fight, otherwise.
It did not mean she wasn't learning, however. She learned that twisting the blade was more effective that merely sweeping it back and forth like an oddly shaped sickle, and that the hilt guard was a very useful blocking mechanism for when the haft of his axe came too close for her liking.
Why could this not be the heart of their culture? She was an abomination, born and bred, and an anomaly at that, one that fought every day for her right upon Myri's green patch of Mizahar, and he was a male, lesser than she if one was to have it right, not for any reason in particular mind you, but because of their Goddesses fierce influence upon their culture. Yet how proud they both were in this moment, how satisfied with each other as opponents allies...perhaps now even friends, though a strange interpretation of the word. Her lip curled thinking about her fang mates, wishing even one of them had half of the honor of the eagle. But it mattered not, she would serve her time and be done with them, serve Caiyha as she was meant to, and live in the safety of the jungles. She knew her course now, and had only to arrive upon it...which left the male before her.
Her leap onto the pillar was not so elegant as before, hefting her weight up and rotating swiftly to eye Razkar upon the ground. Though she was about to ask him that very question which had crossed her mind, his last words stopped her. No more words it was. He attempted the copy cat move of cutting at her ankles, and the half-breed expected it. She was not so nimble as to dislodge the axe from his grip, however, so her feet merely leapt into the air over his weapon and landed roughly back onto the stone, hopping to the side as the eagle joined her upon the massive length of carved granite.
The ghosts seemed pleased by this turn of the events. Heart to hearts hadn't been the main attraction of the arena in its heyday, and so they cheered as the axe swung towards her stomach, Tinnok leaned backward, letting herself fall onto her rump, and kick with both feet towards his ankles. Might as well use the strange curvature of the pillar to her advantage, no? From her seated position she gripped the scimitar tightly in one hand and swung it towards him, making sure it was the flat of the blade and not the wicked sharp inside, in case she had caught him off guard.
It did not mean she wasn't learning, however. She learned that twisting the blade was more effective that merely sweeping it back and forth like an oddly shaped sickle, and that the hilt guard was a very useful blocking mechanism for when the haft of his axe came too close for her liking.
Why could this not be the heart of their culture? She was an abomination, born and bred, and an anomaly at that, one that fought every day for her right upon Myri's green patch of Mizahar, and he was a male, lesser than she if one was to have it right, not for any reason in particular mind you, but because of their Goddesses fierce influence upon their culture. Yet how proud they both were in this moment, how satisfied with each other as opponents allies...perhaps now even friends, though a strange interpretation of the word. Her lip curled thinking about her fang mates, wishing even one of them had half of the honor of the eagle. But it mattered not, she would serve her time and be done with them, serve Caiyha as she was meant to, and live in the safety of the jungles. She knew her course now, and had only to arrive upon it...which left the male before her.
Her leap onto the pillar was not so elegant as before, hefting her weight up and rotating swiftly to eye Razkar upon the ground. Though she was about to ask him that very question which had crossed her mind, his last words stopped her. No more words it was. He attempted the copy cat move of cutting at her ankles, and the half-breed expected it. She was not so nimble as to dislodge the axe from his grip, however, so her feet merely leapt into the air over his weapon and landed roughly back onto the stone, hopping to the side as the eagle joined her upon the massive length of carved granite.
The ghosts seemed pleased by this turn of the events. Heart to hearts hadn't been the main attraction of the arena in its heyday, and so they cheered as the axe swung towards her stomach, Tinnok leaned backward, letting herself fall onto her rump, and kick with both feet towards his ankles. Might as well use the strange curvature of the pillar to her advantage, no? From her seated position she gripped the scimitar tightly in one hand and swung it towards him, making sure it was the flat of the blade and not the wicked sharp inside, in case she had caught him off guard.
