Morning around the yards came far too early, but Paks managed to get out of bed and face the day with the other learning ranks. She often had a smile on her face, even if that smile was only skin deep. Internally, the woman struggled with her experiences during the Seanchan attack, but she was not one to moan about her problems. More often than not, she’d rather drown the worries of the day in the bottom of a mug of ale, port or mead, and get on with it.
Unfortunately, as was often the case with such experiences, hangovers became par for the course. Paks had, thus far, done well to hide the effects of her overindulgence, or at least so she thought. She’d gotten herself into a fine pickle with the only way out seemingly up through the ranks. The very thought made her want to forget afternoon training and classes and find her way to one of the few pubs that seemed to be up and running after the attacks.
Despite her driving desire to lose herself in a bottle, Paks did actually train. She had just finished going through unarmed exercises on her own, finding the motions somewhat meditative. They helped calm her mind and center her in a way that was unfamiliar to the Drin, though she didn’t have the emotional vocabulary to explain it to anyone else.
The Drin’ had a bit of time before she was due for her next class on wielding daggers. It seemed all of the Drin’ were signed up for the class, and nearly everyone bragged about how they were going to become experts wielding two daggers against their opponents. The fighting thing did not come naturally to Paks. She had to work extremely hard to pass unarmed, and found she could actually fight competently against real opponents, but it was not second nature to the woman.
As she passed through the yards, Paks noticed a familiar face. Wearing the darker grey uniform of a Ji’, Paks watched as Natlya went through one sword form to another. The woman’s footwork, and bladework were inspiring to watch, in a way, but at the same time seemed all to complicated for Paks. She stopped and leaned against a nearby fence, and continued to watch Natlya move from one form to another. A sheen of sweat had formed on the Ji’, and someone stepped up to Paks, “She’s still goin’ at it? Been here since last bell. Girl’s workin’ herself hard.”
Paks looked over her shoulder to another Ji’ who shook his head and walked away. The Drin’ frowned when she looked back to Natlya. The woman had watched her friend (her lover?) die during their ill-advised excursion to the Seanchan camp. Paks didn’t know her well, but they were, in her mind, connected in some odd way.
Not too far away was a water trough. Moving over to it, Paks grabbed the ladle and gathered a scoop before moving towards Natlya, “Ji’, I don’t think the Master of Training would mind if you took a break for some water.” She flashed her charismatic smile and held up the ladle, making sure to stand well outside of the arc of the woman’s sword. “Perhaps come take a break and have a drink?”
Unfortunately, as was often the case with such experiences, hangovers became par for the course. Paks had, thus far, done well to hide the effects of her overindulgence, or at least so she thought. She’d gotten herself into a fine pickle with the only way out seemingly up through the ranks. The very thought made her want to forget afternoon training and classes and find her way to one of the few pubs that seemed to be up and running after the attacks.
Despite her driving desire to lose herself in a bottle, Paks did actually train. She had just finished going through unarmed exercises on her own, finding the motions somewhat meditative. They helped calm her mind and center her in a way that was unfamiliar to the Drin, though she didn’t have the emotional vocabulary to explain it to anyone else.
The Drin’ had a bit of time before she was due for her next class on wielding daggers. It seemed all of the Drin’ were signed up for the class, and nearly everyone bragged about how they were going to become experts wielding two daggers against their opponents. The fighting thing did not come naturally to Paks. She had to work extremely hard to pass unarmed, and found she could actually fight competently against real opponents, but it was not second nature to the woman.
As she passed through the yards, Paks noticed a familiar face. Wearing the darker grey uniform of a Ji’, Paks watched as Natlya went through one sword form to another. The woman’s footwork, and bladework were inspiring to watch, in a way, but at the same time seemed all to complicated for Paks. She stopped and leaned against a nearby fence, and continued to watch Natlya move from one form to another. A sheen of sweat had formed on the Ji’, and someone stepped up to Paks, “She’s still goin’ at it? Been here since last bell. Girl’s workin’ herself hard.”
Paks looked over her shoulder to another Ji’ who shook his head and walked away. The Drin’ frowned when she looked back to Natlya. The woman had watched her friend (her lover?) die during their ill-advised excursion to the Seanchan camp. Paks didn’t know her well, but they were, in her mind, connected in some odd way.
Not too far away was a water trough. Moving over to it, Paks grabbed the ladle and gathered a scoop before moving towards Natlya, “Ji’, I don’t think the Master of Training would mind if you took a break for some water.” She flashed her charismatic smile and held up the ladle, making sure to stand well outside of the arc of the woman’s sword. “Perhaps come take a break and have a drink?”
