Post by Deleted on Jul 11, 2015 4:59:52 GMT -5
Aemrys was not a warrior, nor did he appear to be built for strength. And yet he had wandered down to the sand-pit training grounds late that evening to take a look around. He had sat, alone, on the fence watching the Knights, and many lords, putting their strength against each other and was perhaps a little jealous of the swing in their swords. Rys was a man who liked to keep a little distance between himself and his enemies.
Humming to himself, he was happy to watch. Though, when the gathering started to disperse, he clambered down from his perch and headed towards the sand-pit. A set of practice weapons had been left to one side, and Aemrys let his eyes graze over them. There, amongst the set was a long wooden stick, sharpened at both ends. Glancing over his shoulder but seeing that no one seemed bothered by his presence, he took the pole into his hand and balanced the weight against his palm. It was a steady weapon, and he smiled to himself a little. It seemed to give him a little more confidence.
Moving to one of the corners of the pit, Aemrys kicked off his boots and let them clatter down into the dirt. With feet bare he sighed, feeling the sand and dust between his toes and letting the sensation ground him. Then he closed his eyes. It was something he had been taught as a child, to listen to the world around you, to steady the pound of your heart and to let the forces of nature guide you through your movements.
There was a heightened moment of silence, where the wind brushed at his curled hair and flickered its fingers along Aemrys’ cheek. Then the boy began to move. He moved as if fighting an invisible partner, but moved more as if this was the greatest dance in the world. With his eyes still closed he felt the movement of the wood in his hands, twirling the instrument and himself into shape, after shape, after shape, to make strikes against the air around him. It was something incredible to behold, as Aemrys became bolder and quicker in his almost elegant actions.
~~
@thereseibarra
Humming to himself, he was happy to watch. Though, when the gathering started to disperse, he clambered down from his perch and headed towards the sand-pit. A set of practice weapons had been left to one side, and Aemrys let his eyes graze over them. There, amongst the set was a long wooden stick, sharpened at both ends. Glancing over his shoulder but seeing that no one seemed bothered by his presence, he took the pole into his hand and balanced the weight against his palm. It was a steady weapon, and he smiled to himself a little. It seemed to give him a little more confidence.
Moving to one of the corners of the pit, Aemrys kicked off his boots and let them clatter down into the dirt. With feet bare he sighed, feeling the sand and dust between his toes and letting the sensation ground him. Then he closed his eyes. It was something he had been taught as a child, to listen to the world around you, to steady the pound of your heart and to let the forces of nature guide you through your movements.
There was a heightened moment of silence, where the wind brushed at his curled hair and flickered its fingers along Aemrys’ cheek. Then the boy began to move. He moved as if fighting an invisible partner, but moved more as if this was the greatest dance in the world. With his eyes still closed he felt the movement of the wood in his hands, twirling the instrument and himself into shape, after shape, after shape, to make strikes against the air around him. It was something incredible to behold, as Aemrys became bolder and quicker in his almost elegant actions.
~~
@thereseibarra