Fall, Day 1, 514 AV
At long last, the day finally came when Syna's brilliant love began to relent. While the heat of Summer had reminded Oriah dearly of home, even she had become to look forward to the cooler days of Fall, though perhaps not so much for the inevitable snow of Winter.
Life in the woods had been easy this season. Sometimes Syna's warmth made training more balmy and exhausting than usual, bt unights were pleasant to sleep through and food was aplenty. Neither squire nor patron were ever in any true danger of starving, being within reasonable distance of the outpost and city. Still, it made life that much better being able to pick off a handful of berries for breakfast or roast a leg of juicy hare for dinner.
As was customary with the beginning of each new season, Sera Mora started their morning with a new weapon to train. For Fall it would be the shortsword. Come winter, bucklers, to keep their blood pumping and test their endurance. Winter was becoming increasingly less appealing to the Benshira. Alas, such was the life of a squire.
As part of their new routine, Mora began their training with ten chimes of running. Oriah hated running. It made her lungs burn like a bundle of dry straw in a roaring bonfire. But her patron insisted it was for her own good, the more painful the better, so running she would go.
She'd been spared this agonizing exercise during the Summer in consideration of the heat, but there was no more mercy to be had now. In fact, Mora had noted, the running would only increase. They had to keep up with Lady Winter's reign.
Oriah tried her best not to think about anything other than moving her legs. Left, right, left, right, keep moving, don't stop or she'll add another lap around the grove...By the time they were done with their morning jog, she felt about ready to vomit. Her head swam and her stomach felt like it was trying to crawl up out of her throat. Blessed Yahal, let it be possible that it won't feel like this everyday.
"The feeling will pass," the Chaktawe commented, as if able to read her squire's thoughts. The knight herself seemed barely fazed from their run. "It is a good sign. Means you were sorely out of shape and in desperate need of this new routine."
Oriah barely managed a pitiful groan before Mora tossed a wooden shortsword in her direction. The Benshira caught it, though just barely, and fumbled for a moment to grip it steady.
"As was the same with our sessions for the bow, we shall work on posture and stance first," the knight announced, picking up her own practice weapon. "The shortsword has less range than its longer brethren. But it is also quicker and lighter, and thus better serves those of the Green. Not to mention we sisters are endowed with gifts other than strength and size, unlike our brothers. Learn to use your speed to your advantage and you will have a fair chance with anyone larger than you. Now, let us start with range."
Oriah listened attentively, taking in her patron's informative introduction before raising her wooden sword in passable mimicry. Her posture didn't look nearly as confident or balanced as Mora's, but she'd long since accepted that it would be a long, long time before she could come anywhere near to her patron's skill level.
"Yes, weapons raised. Note the weight of your practice word--it will not be the same as your real one," the knight spoke. "Now, thrust forward to attack."
Oriah did as she was told and felt her arm stretch to its very limits. The shortsword didn't go very far at all, but she was coming to understand that that was the point. "It will make the difference between life and death, squire, knowing your reach," Mora explained as her student watched and listened, both utterly focused. "I've seen many, both beginners and veterans alike, underestimate or overestimate their abilities. It seems a small mistake. Sometimes it costs only a shallow wound. Sometimes, your life."
