Fighting with bloody knuckles turned out to be less fun than Miriam remembered. It’s been two weeks since she started training and with every passing session she cursed herself for being overeager that first day. Her knuckles were swollen and cracked and even using her palms irritated the scabs.
She watched as her opponent circled the muddy field in tandem with her. After the first few days training with fresh recruits she realized that she needed someone who knew what they were doing. The knight she hired was only a year or two older than her brother, but she knew that he had seen battle. It was the first seasoned soldier she had fought so far and it was showing. Her breathing was labored, sweat poured down her temples and back, and her lip split open again. She could almost hear Golda chastising her for not letting her cuts heal.
The knight’s boots squelched in the mud of their small field, closed off from the general training area to keep unwanted eyes away, his practice sword waited at the ready, its dull metal glinting in the morning light, and his eyes stalked her like prey. She chanced a glance at her fallen sword, resting tauntingly in between her and the man. It was a mistake. Continue reading