by sword
by salt
by salt
Away, away, away from the noise of the city and the throne, Marisol is sparring with a ghost.
The training field behind the barracks is graveyard-empty, except for her. Overhead the sky is still night-dark; the sun has only begun its rounds, turning the strip above the horizon a foamy kind of pink-and-purple, and clouds are falling away into the cold air. Like birdsong, her spear whistles through the air. Like the whistle of a flute, it’s music to her ears. With all kinds of rage, she hefts it again and again at the training dummy already slashed to bits where it stands in the sand, and with all the precision of a paring knife the spearhead hits its target again and again.
It’s the only thing she’s still sure she knows how to do. Fighting, sparring. It’s all muscle memory to her, as easy as reading or falling asleep. The thud-thud-thud of the spear into straw matches her heartbeat almost exactly. And as the sun rises higher and higher and Mari’s throws hit closer and closer to the bright center of the target, the knots that have built up in her muscles melt away. Exhilaration pushes out the stress that’s hardened deep in her chest. With sweat lacquering her skin, nostrils flared against her face, the Commander finally tosses the spear aside and, with a huff, goes sliding on her side into the sand.
It feels good, to be so exhausted she can’t worry about anything else. Like sleeping without wasting all that time. Her body buzzes with the release of adrenaline. Ribs heaving against the sand, she lets her head fall back and for a long moment just breathes, breathes, breathes. Wind rushes by and ruffles the short, dark strands of her mane; the sun bakes away the salt along her skin.
Then there is the sound of footsteps on the hard, dusty ground. Marisol whooshes a long breath out through her nostrils. One eye cracks open against the bright sun, and when it focuses, a gray filly is backlit above her. “Charlie!” she exclaims, voice warm and bright-surprised, and abruptly rolls up to sitting; after a few short, confused blinks, a smile breaks over her face. “What’re you doing here?”
“Speaking.”
The training field behind the barracks is graveyard-empty, except for her. Overhead the sky is still night-dark; the sun has only begun its rounds, turning the strip above the horizon a foamy kind of pink-and-purple, and clouds are falling away into the cold air. Like birdsong, her spear whistles through the air. Like the whistle of a flute, it’s music to her ears. With all kinds of rage, she hefts it again and again at the training dummy already slashed to bits where it stands in the sand, and with all the precision of a paring knife the spearhead hits its target again and again.
It’s the only thing she’s still sure she knows how to do. Fighting, sparring. It’s all muscle memory to her, as easy as reading or falling asleep. The thud-thud-thud of the spear into straw matches her heartbeat almost exactly. And as the sun rises higher and higher and Mari’s throws hit closer and closer to the bright center of the target, the knots that have built up in her muscles melt away. Exhilaration pushes out the stress that’s hardened deep in her chest. With sweat lacquering her skin, nostrils flared against her face, the Commander finally tosses the spear aside and, with a huff, goes sliding on her side into the sand.
It feels good, to be so exhausted she can’t worry about anything else. Like sleeping without wasting all that time. Her body buzzes with the release of adrenaline. Ribs heaving against the sand, she lets her head fall back and for a long moment just breathes, breathes, breathes. Wind rushes by and ruffles the short, dark strands of her mane; the sun bakes away the salt along her skin.
Then there is the sound of footsteps on the hard, dusty ground. Marisol whooshes a long breath out through her nostrils. One eye cracks open against the bright sun, and when it focuses, a gray filly is backlit above her. “Charlie!” she exclaims, voice warm and bright-surprised, and abruptly rolls up to sitting; after a few short, confused blinks, a smile breaks over her face. “What’re you doing here?”
![[Image: ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda...jvUop12efQ]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/c175b84a-409b-40aa-8b86-49ed65b989ee/ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda550e.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2MxNzViODRhLTQwOWItNDBhYS04Yjg2LTQ5ZWQ2NWI5ODllZVwvZGRnNnF1eS05ZDE1ZGFiNS0zMzljLTRiMDktOGI1Ny0yMGE5OWZkYTU1MGUucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.j-t9RuUsmMyaVL-O1rvZqbyyPYdOvtjHLjvUop12efQ)
