15min fic #18
Aug. 23rd, 2004 02:02 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yrae
Title~ Steel
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine, would you believe?
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 18. This took more than 15 minutes. Oops, my bad.
~ ~ ~
Nimay spun the leather-bound hilt in her grip, steel blade winking in the sunlight. Her feet were set apart and she crouched low, keeping her centre of gravity closer to the ground so she would not fall.
Past her spinning blade was her opponent, a boy seven years her senior, but no more trained than she was. A smirk played on his lips as he eyed the much younger girl; whether he defeated her or not, he knew he had won. He could simply blame any loss on the girl’s magic, and nobody would think any less of him.
Nimay drew in a deep breath, waiting with infinite patience for the sword master to begin the practice.
“Begin.”
Finally.
Both competitors flew at each other, steel ringing in the still air. They’d been practicing with steel now for almost a month, and Nimay had become adept at the new feel of the blades. It was heavier, but the slick silver cut through the air much cleaner than wood.
It was evident from the outset that her opponent had not yet weighed the difference between the two different medium.
“Keep your strokes smaller,” the sword master suggested. No names had been mentioned, so the call was obviously meant for the both of them.
Nimay nodded slightly, consciously keeping her strokes more delicate as the steel nipped at her opponent’s flesh, clashed with his blade. There didn’t appear to be any difference with his strokes. If any change was apparent at all, it was that they got bigger, almost in defiance of the sword master.
Nimay’s brow furrowed in concentration. She may have better skill, but the sixteen-year-old was still considerably stronger. If the skirmish continued for too much longer, exhaustion would take over and she would make a mistake.
Her teeth gritted as she fought off the blade, still attacking her with the same ferocity as it had used at the beginning of the bout. She wouldn’t use her magic. She couldn’t give him that satisfaction, even if the yrae stone was the only reason she had been admitted.
The blades continued to ring as the battle wore on. Nimay’s arms were aching so much she felt they would almost drop off. She shook her head faintly, knowing the battle was lost.
The boy’s blade crashed down over her head, giving her barely enough time to react. The leather-bound hilt jarred in her hands, causing the blade to clatter to the ground. Without delay, the steel tip of her opponent’s sword pressed against her throat.
Nimay crossed her arms over her heaving chest, one hand on either shoulder in the gesture of defeat.
The boy smirked. “The only reason you have even been admitted to train with us is because of your yrae stone,” he told her, “Why do you not simply give in and use it?”
The nine-year-old scowled down the length of the steel blade, wishing she could give an answer he could understand.
Another blade smacked down on top of the boy’s, forcing him to pull it away.
“That may be the reason she was admitted,” the sword master told him, “but it is hardly the reason she stays.”
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine, would you believe?
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 18. This took more than 15 minutes. Oops, my bad.
Nimay spun the leather-bound hilt in her grip, steel blade winking in the sunlight. Her feet were set apart and she crouched low, keeping her centre of gravity closer to the ground so she would not fall.
Past her spinning blade was her opponent, a boy seven years her senior, but no more trained than she was. A smirk played on his lips as he eyed the much younger girl; whether he defeated her or not, he knew he had won. He could simply blame any loss on the girl’s magic, and nobody would think any less of him.
Nimay drew in a deep breath, waiting with infinite patience for the sword master to begin the practice.
“Begin.”
Finally.
Both competitors flew at each other, steel ringing in the still air. They’d been practicing with steel now for almost a month, and Nimay had become adept at the new feel of the blades. It was heavier, but the slick silver cut through the air much cleaner than wood.
It was evident from the outset that her opponent had not yet weighed the difference between the two different medium.
“Keep your strokes smaller,” the sword master suggested. No names had been mentioned, so the call was obviously meant for the both of them.
Nimay nodded slightly, consciously keeping her strokes more delicate as the steel nipped at her opponent’s flesh, clashed with his blade. There didn’t appear to be any difference with his strokes. If any change was apparent at all, it was that they got bigger, almost in defiance of the sword master.
Nimay’s brow furrowed in concentration. She may have better skill, but the sixteen-year-old was still considerably stronger. If the skirmish continued for too much longer, exhaustion would take over and she would make a mistake.
Her teeth gritted as she fought off the blade, still attacking her with the same ferocity as it had used at the beginning of the bout. She wouldn’t use her magic. She couldn’t give him that satisfaction, even if the yrae stone was the only reason she had been admitted.
The blades continued to ring as the battle wore on. Nimay’s arms were aching so much she felt they would almost drop off. She shook her head faintly, knowing the battle was lost.
The boy’s blade crashed down over her head, giving her barely enough time to react. The leather-bound hilt jarred in her hands, causing the blade to clatter to the ground. Without delay, the steel tip of her opponent’s sword pressed against her throat.
Nimay crossed her arms over her heaving chest, one hand on either shoulder in the gesture of defeat.
The boy smirked. “The only reason you have even been admitted to train with us is because of your yrae stone,” he told her, “Why do you not simply give in and use it?”
The nine-year-old scowled down the length of the steel blade, wishing she could give an answer he could understand.
Another blade smacked down on top of the boy’s, forcing him to pull it away.
“That may be the reason she was admitted,” the sword master told him, “but it is hardly the reason she stays.”