“Relax,” Dess said, laughingly. “I’ll teach you.”
And so he did. He disappeared into trees momentarily, returning with two sticks, one of which he handed her. “This is called an arming sword, or a short sword,” he began, and Thia snorted.
“Actually, it’s a stick.”
“I can still skewer you with it.”
She raised her stick in surrender.
He amended, “If we had those swords over there”—he jutted his chin in the direction of their weapons—“we would be using a short sword. There are two basic movements: thrust and parry.” He demonstrated.
“Stab and don’t-get-stabbed,” Thia said, attempting to imitate him. The movement felt very unnatural, and the stick, light as it was, tugged uncomfortably at her wrists.
“Exactly,” Dess said. “Don’t clutch it quite so hard.”
She tried again, trying for a firm grip instead of hold-for-dear-life grip.
“Good,” Dess said. “Now we can do it from a variety of angles and positions, and that’s called a combo.” He took his stance again, knees bent, stick raised. Then he moved. “Thrust out, parry right, thrust down, parry left. Try it.”
She did. Without a mirror, she couldn’t see how it looked, but she’d never been an athlete, and that was abundantly clear in the rhythm of her movements. Or lack of rhythm. She nearly pitched herself over on the thrust down.
Dess smirked. “Maybe don’t swing so hard. Try to just get used to the movement first.”
She made a second attempt, feeling a bit like she was twirling a magic wand, not imitating a sword fight.
She could tell Dess was trying not to laugh at her, and she bopped him gently with her stick. “Asshole.”
He grabbed the end of it before she could repeat the attack and turned to Thran. “Any pointers?”
Thran’s eyes widened, perhaps because Dess had never voluntarily included him before. He tossed a genuine smile. But he said, “Don’t ask me. I know the basics, but surely not more than you.”
It was at that moment that Oskaren returned from hunting. Thia felt her gaze like hot coals as she settled on the other end of the log to Thran. The smile she gave wasn’t kind.
Dess shifted awkwardly, perhaps as uneasy as Thia under Oskaren’s watchful eye. “Shall we go again?” he asked. When Thia didn’t move, he nodded encouragingly. “Just the same combination as before.”
Thia took a deep breath, trying to put Oskaren out of her mind. She raised her stick—
And bopped herself in the nose.
She braced herself for laughter.
It didn’t come. Dess cracked a smile, but their observers were silent. Thia turned; Oskaren was indeed watching. But the other girl only raised an eyebrow as if to say,Are you going to do it or what?
Surprised, relieved, confused, Thia took up her position. Dess demonstrated again, and Thia ran through the movement a second time. She tried not to worry about speed or strength, and just focused on moving her body in the unfamiliar way. It felt better.
“Good!” Dess said brightly. “Try it faster now.”
That was definitely not good. She was back to wand twirling.
This time Oskaren did comment. “Useless,” she said, and Thia winced.
Dess, who looked like he might have agreed, was now furiously on Thia’s side. “I thought it was good,” he said, even though she’d caught him biting his lip to keep from cracking up while she was mid-movement.
Oskaren stood. “I was talking about you.”
Dess’s lips parted in surprise. He recovered, crossing his arms with a glare. “Why did we bother saving her again?”
She ignored the jab, addressing Thia. “You shouldn’t be learning from him. He twists his hips before every move. You can tell exactly where he’s going to strike before he does.” She gave him a once-over. “I told you to work on that.”
