67th of Summer, 507AV
Irissa frowned in concentration, trying to mimic Anais’ movements. The dark-skinned girl was barely used to the rise and fall of the ship's deck in the waters, and keeping her balance was sometimes challenging enough without the cutlass lessons Anais insisted she needed, if she wanted to be a “real” Svefra. A disgruntled sigh left her lips; with her hands on her hips, and the cutlass dangling haphazardly from fingers that no longer really cared, Irissa looked as unwilling as she felt.
Anais, on the other hand, grinned at her new friend, happiness setting her face alight. For too long, the only company her age in the pod had been her awful cousin, Jewel. The adults were alright, but at 15 years old, Anais wasn’t quite considered an equal among them, but they certainly give me an equal share of work, she thought. Irissa, though a couple years older, was only 2 years old on the Suvan, having been born and raised in the desert, and the blond was having the time of her life showing the other girl the ropes – and the rigging, and the halyard, and the jib.
“Rissa, you have to stand better. Like I showed you, with your feet out,” Anais explained patiently, making a big deal of placing her own feet wide for stability on the ocean’s shifting surface. “Otherwise you’ll fall and spit yerself on the blade.” Comfortable, after a lifetime at sea, Anais mimed falling down, laughing at the momentary panic that leapt into her friend’s eyes. “See? If I’d had balance like yours, you’d be setting my body out to sea and praying to the All Father for my reckless, accident-prone soul.”
“It’s not funny, Ana!” Temper flashed briefly at the joke, before Irissa’s dark brown eyes calmed once again, never able to stay angry with the other girl for long. Since learning of her heritage, she’d set out to experience the life of her father, the life of a Svefra sailor, even though the Benshiran had never so much as seen the ocean before. It was impulsive, and many times over the next couple years, she had regretted her rash decision. She’d spent some time sailing with the Whitewave Pod, before ending up with the Seawinds and Anais. Though it had been just a season since joining the smaller pod, Ana had already made her feel like family, and Irissa didn’t want to let her down. "Besides, I'm more likely to beg Yahal to keep me free of your silliness," she retorted, but the words held no heat and were softened with a smile.
Resignedly, she placed her feet firmly on the deck, spreading them apart until her stance mimicked that of the other girl – wide and mostly balanced. Holding her cutlass aloft, the weapon still feeling altogether too heavy and ungainly in her hand, she looked to Anais for approval. “Like this? I don’t know how you can use these things,” she gave the weapon a shake for emphasis, “it’s far too large. Give me a good Benshiran sling any day.”
“What? No way – how can you fend off pirates and just generally look impressive with a tiny sling?” Anais giggled, shadow-fighting an imaginary pirate. She’d never really had a reason to use her cutlass for self-defense or pirate-threatening, but since she’d been a little girl her imagination had given her plenty of reasons to practice. Now she thrust the curved blade ahead of her, into the air where a pirate heart might be, if a pirate materialized in front of her. Slashing downward with the blade, she parried and slashed at imaginary limbs, feeling her blade slice through the air eagerly. The sharpened tip gleamed in the sun, and Anais flourished it overhead before striking a masterful blow to her imaginary foe.
Bright blue eyes met dark ones as Anais turned to Irissa in triumph. “See? I’m impressive. Right? You’d be scared to face me.”
The girls stared at each other in silence for several ticks before twin peals of laughter rang out over the air.
“Alright, alright. I admit it, it’s impressive,” Irissa caved, as they had both known she would. “It is pretty, though. Why is it only sharp halfway up the blade, though?”
“Each part of a sailor’s cutlass is designed to serve a purpose,” Anais intoned, in an obviously long-ago memorized piece of wisdom, before continuing easily, “at least that’s what Uncle Chelm said. The blade is sharpened at the top half and dull at the bottom because you’re supposed to use the bottom half to parry your opponent’s attacks. The top half you’d use for your own attacks. And the very tip,” she held it up, angling the blade to catch the light, “the tip is sharp on both sides for stabbing.” Another lunging thrust illustrated her point, punctuated by a vicious mock-yell.
Anais, on the other hand, grinned at her new friend, happiness setting her face alight. For too long, the only company her age in the pod had been her awful cousin, Jewel. The adults were alright, but at 15 years old, Anais wasn’t quite considered an equal among them, but they certainly give me an equal share of work, she thought. Irissa, though a couple years older, was only 2 years old on the Suvan, having been born and raised in the desert, and the blond was having the time of her life showing the other girl the ropes – and the rigging, and the halyard, and the jib.
“Rissa, you have to stand better. Like I showed you, with your feet out,” Anais explained patiently, making a big deal of placing her own feet wide for stability on the ocean’s shifting surface. “Otherwise you’ll fall and spit yerself on the blade.” Comfortable, after a lifetime at sea, Anais mimed falling down, laughing at the momentary panic that leapt into her friend’s eyes. “See? If I’d had balance like yours, you’d be setting my body out to sea and praying to the All Father for my reckless, accident-prone soul.”
“It’s not funny, Ana!” Temper flashed briefly at the joke, before Irissa’s dark brown eyes calmed once again, never able to stay angry with the other girl for long. Since learning of her heritage, she’d set out to experience the life of her father, the life of a Svefra sailor, even though the Benshiran had never so much as seen the ocean before. It was impulsive, and many times over the next couple years, she had regretted her rash decision. She’d spent some time sailing with the Whitewave Pod, before ending up with the Seawinds and Anais. Though it had been just a season since joining the smaller pod, Ana had already made her feel like family, and Irissa didn’t want to let her down. "Besides, I'm more likely to beg Yahal to keep me free of your silliness," she retorted, but the words held no heat and were softened with a smile.
Resignedly, she placed her feet firmly on the deck, spreading them apart until her stance mimicked that of the other girl – wide and mostly balanced. Holding her cutlass aloft, the weapon still feeling altogether too heavy and ungainly in her hand, she looked to Anais for approval. “Like this? I don’t know how you can use these things,” she gave the weapon a shake for emphasis, “it’s far too large. Give me a good Benshiran sling any day.”
“What? No way – how can you fend off pirates and just generally look impressive with a tiny sling?” Anais giggled, shadow-fighting an imaginary pirate. She’d never really had a reason to use her cutlass for self-defense or pirate-threatening, but since she’d been a little girl her imagination had given her plenty of reasons to practice. Now she thrust the curved blade ahead of her, into the air where a pirate heart might be, if a pirate materialized in front of her. Slashing downward with the blade, she parried and slashed at imaginary limbs, feeling her blade slice through the air eagerly. The sharpened tip gleamed in the sun, and Anais flourished it overhead before striking a masterful blow to her imaginary foe.
Bright blue eyes met dark ones as Anais turned to Irissa in triumph. “See? I’m impressive. Right? You’d be scared to face me.”
The girls stared at each other in silence for several ticks before twin peals of laughter rang out over the air.
“Alright, alright. I admit it, it’s impressive,” Irissa caved, as they had both known she would. “It is pretty, though. Why is it only sharp halfway up the blade, though?”
“Each part of a sailor’s cutlass is designed to serve a purpose,” Anais intoned, in an obviously long-ago memorized piece of wisdom, before continuing easily, “at least that’s what Uncle Chelm said. The blade is sharpened at the top half and dull at the bottom because you’re supposed to use the bottom half to parry your opponent’s attacks. The top half you’d use for your own attacks. And the very tip,” she held it up, angling the blade to catch the light, “the tip is sharp on both sides for stabbing.” Another lunging thrust illustrated her point, punctuated by a vicious mock-yell.
Word count: 809
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