It had never been said that she would shirk her training.
She paused in her movements to consider the straw-stuffed dummy a dozen yards away from her, the dagger she had borrowed from the armory halting next to her shoulder. There are several others sticking out of the ground around the target, one with hilt still quivering, but none have actually managed to hit their target. It shouldn’t have been this hard to control the small, light daggers -- hell, they were practically made for this, and if she couldn’t hit the target while firmly on the ground, how was she supposed to do so while in the air?
A scoff leaves her lips, her mind extending and yanking the daggers from the dirt to clatter into a pile at her feet, her pale eyes narrowing. There had to be a trick to this -- she just couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, how to keep the blades steady in the air once she sent them flying.
With a frustrated grunt, she sends the hovering blade flying -- only to watch it embed itself into the dirt at the foot of the target, quivering as though laughing at her feeble attempts.
She longed for the cold of her birth season, the chill of her old home, and the breath of ice on her neck that reminded her of the north. Here it was autumn, there was no snow on the ground just yet, and the temperatures were almost too warm for the woman as she shook herself off a little, sending out droplets of sweat from her darkened flanks. She still had her summer coat, even, while most were beginning to grow a thicker one for colder months.
Thankfully, she can enjoy the shade, and Valkyr finds herself making her way towards the nearby field of the court, meandering and dipping her head as she stepped under a tree. Of course, she wasn't alone. There was another figure though they stood out in the field, blindingly bright against the backdrop of grasses and structures. They were also attempting to throw knives at a target, something that.. wasn't quite working out.
She remembered home, remembered her own blades, her own hunts for furs and fats.
"Do you need help?" It was a throaty voice, a rumbling hum from a distant land, thick with accent and deeper than most would expect from a slender figure such as herself.
She stares at the dagger with a disgruntled expression crossing her face, aware of her audience but paying no mind to the mare -- until a husky, accented voice breaks through the silence of the courtyard, drawing her gaze towards the golden mare painted with thick strokes of white. For a moment, she refuses to answer, caught between her own stubborn pride and her need to improve her performance with the hovering weapons -- it’s a battle that plays out over her feminine face, her expression shifting from mulish pride to a resigned sort of acceptance over the space of a few moments.
“I think so, yes,” She finally admits with no small amount of stung pride, scuffing a hoof into the dirt beneath her and giving the daggers a slightly frazzled look. Of course, it had to be a pretty girl who stumbled across her obvious failure, one who knew what they were doing, even. It just rubbed salt into the already raw wound, but if it meant she became better suited to serve the Halcyon Unit -- how could she not swallow her pride and ask for help?
“No matter how I send them flying, they don’t go where I need them to.”
It was interesting to watch the play of emotions, the way the other seemed too proud to even speak for a moment or two. Valkyr remained silent, though there was a pleasant smile on those dark lips of hers, tugging at the corners of her mouth. Slowly, she dislodged herself from her position under the tree and its colorful leaves, stepping out from shadow and back in to the sunlight that flickered and licked at her hide, warm and bright.
"It's all in the handle. Not the blade itself." Her ears flicked, onyx honing toward the other mare as she stepped up to her. They were close in height, but where the bright mare had antlers and wings, Valk was more stocky and muscled, built for the cold and the life of the north. She was outwardly strong, able to fight and take on what the winters of her old home threw at her. "So if you focus on the handle, the weight of it, and how it moves, it should be easier."
Even as she spoke, she lifted one of the daggers with her mind. It was a familiar weight to her, easily held. She was used to long and awkward spears, so as she faced the dummy, she threw it forward, watching it embed right on target. "Focus on the dummy, the target. They taught me back home, when hunting, to keep your eyes on the enemy, not on where you're holding the weapon."
She bites down her pride with teeth sharpened by ambition, her desire for knowledge stronger than any humiliation she might experience as a result of her request for help. Instead, her pale eyes turn towards the golden mare, watching how the sunlight plays across her curves -- it seems to sparkle across her coat, teasing at the dip of her hip, and for a brief moment she finds herself far more entranced with the impromptu teacher rather than the current lesson.
She’s always been a sucker for muscle, after all -- the contrast between her own lithe frame and a stockier one, the knowledge that they could go toe-to-toe without a doubt -- and this mare is certainly built thick, in the best kind of way.
Her ears swing forward as the mare speaks, drinking in the slight accent of her words. Even so, there’s unveiled curiosity in her gaze as she watches how easily the dagger hovers beneath the command of the northern woman, how it embeds itself into the target with what seems like minimal effort. Carefully, she extends the magic and lifts one of the daggers, concentrating on the weight of the handle and realizing that by doing so, it seems to steady much more than before.
“My name is Theodosia, by the way. What may I call you?”
Seeing someone winged is a new thing for Valkyr; in the North, those wings would have been clamped tight and bound by furs against the cold, or else lost from the frostbite that would ensue. Those that came from her birthplace were all ground dwellers, though they varied between their looks, usually rugged and shaggy, with furs piled on them, with the rare horns here and there.
A smile played across dark lips as she watched her temporary pupil, nodding her head a little when the dagger was lifted once more. "Better, focusing on the handle, is it not?" Her throaty voice peeked from her lips and she laughed softly, a low rumble of sound that curled from deep in her chest.
If she noticed she was being stared at, she most certainly didn't show it.
"Theodosia..." It sounded strange on her accented tongue, but golden eyes warmed and seemed to dance with all her amusement. "Valkyr. Or Valk. Whichever you find to be easier." Names such as her own weren't uncommon, but here in the south they certainly were an exotic oddity.
Her eyebrows furrow as her attention shifts to the hovering dagger, taking her time now -- learning the weight of it in the palm of her mind, how it balances now with her focus on the handle. She takes a deep breath to center herself, her focus shifting towards the straw-stuffed dummy in front of her before she lets the dagger fly. It sinks itself into the rough burlap of the target, and while it is nowhere near the brightly painted target, it is still progress that draws a wide, beaming smile across her face.
“Definitely better!” She agrees enthusiastically, her pale lavender eyes bright and her ears perking forwards as her gaze dances between the northern mare and the dagger embedded in the dummy. She’s amazed at how quickly such simple advice had helped with her problem, levitating another dagger with her focus on the handle -- this time, when she lets it fly, it hits one of the outer edges of the target.
“Thank you, Valkyr.” She seems almost unable to contain her joy at having been taught the trick to the daggers, taking a quick step forward and brushing a kiss of gratitude across Valk’s cheek. “You can call me Theo, if you’d like.”
It's certainly a good thing for her to see the other mare excited over the advice given. Valk had always been one to help while she could, to teach those that needed a little step up. So her dark lips pulled in to a smile at the happiness, the enthusiasm, before watching as a second dagger flew, as it pushed in to the target, sinking in to part of the paint that marked it. A quick improvement, and it was likely the mare would only get better, now that she knew where to focus her holding point.
Tipping her head, ivory locks waved, the onyx mixing as she gave a small dip of her head toward the grateful words. The smile only grew on her face at the brush of lips on her cheek, a chuckle falling from her own lips. Perhaps the south wasn't as strange as she thought. Most down here actively avoided anything affectionate, as if it would create something, or give some sort of idea.
Southerners were strange.
"I am glad I could help, Theo. It's always nice to meet someone that is willing to learn a new trick or two. After all, you need to learn to grow!" Hell, she was still learning things herself, and she always would, she figured. There would always be something new to learn, and it would be wise to keep her mind open for it.
The daggers waver for a moment before she carefully brings them hovering back to her, neatly setting them in a pile at her hooves. The one now embedded in the target takes a few more moments of concentration, but she’s starting to get the hang of this telekinesis thing -- a short ‘tug’ brings it to join the others before she turns to the mare with a bright smile that matches the gleam of her pale coat.
“It was great to meet you,” Her words are almost painfully earnest, ears perked forward towards the Northern woman. “I gotta get going -- I’ll see you around sometime, right?”
I HEARD HEAVEN & THE THUNDER CRY.
@Valkyr one short n shitty closer!
she wasn't looking for a knight,
she was looking for a sword.
Golden eyes lit up, and Valkyr nodded her head, smiling even more at Theodosia. "I shall hope so. I will be a warrior here in Dusk soon enough. Perhaps we can spar some time." She winked at the pale mare with a smile on those dark lips, turning herself as she did.
She took her separate way, more than happy to have helped someone for the day.
