"Cuyan'ika"
To all hells with it!
A snarl rolled from the Foundling’s throat as she caught the incoming strike from the corner of her eye. On instinct she raised her shield to catch it. Steel struck steel in the same breath. The ferocity behind the blow wrenched a groan from her core. The red haired Storm sent her stumbling back. Her balance expertly stolen, the Harpy skidded across the frozen ground. A mist of snow swallowed her shins as she left behind a trail across the knee-deep, lily-white snowfall.
But she was quick to recover.
She tipped her weight forward as she sharply pivoted her ankle. The crook of her sole bit into the frozen earth and she came to a screeching halt. The Harpy rose slowly, drawing herself up. The inexpressive steel of her helmet faceplate never once veered off Red. With a flick of her wrist, the bes'kad in her right-handed grasp windmilled in a modest flourish as she moved at a stalk, circling Reggie from a distance.
Like a predator, waiting for the right moment to strike.
<“If ise didn’t know any better, I’d say yous gettin’ soft with me, teach.”> Her cackle cut sharp in Kestri’s bone-chilling wind. No doubt Reggie already planned to make her eat her words and serve up a lesson she would not soon forget.
And Vara loved her for it.
Struggle and challenge her old friends, the Foundling always met the difficulty of Storm’s training with an appetite and fervor to match, no matter how grueling the task. This was not any different. Her crimson gaze shifted. Slow and methodical as she continued her measured prowl. And before long, she seized her moment.
The shistavanen closed in.
The snow crunched under her boots. Her posture shifted to a deceptive stance of defense. Her visor glared at the woman over the rim of her circular shield. Muscles tautened out of anticipation of her bes'kad. The Harpy counted on it, intent on answering her with a well executed riposte and draw blood.
Leave a mark no matter how small, proving she was worthy of her mentor’s efforts as ever.
A snarl rolled from the Foundling’s throat as she caught the incoming strike from the corner of her eye. On instinct she raised her shield to catch it. Steel struck steel in the same breath. The ferocity behind the blow wrenched a groan from her core. The red haired Storm sent her stumbling back. Her balance expertly stolen, the Harpy skidded across the frozen ground. A mist of snow swallowed her shins as she left behind a trail across the knee-deep, lily-white snowfall.
But she was quick to recover.
She tipped her weight forward as she sharply pivoted her ankle. The crook of her sole bit into the frozen earth and she came to a screeching halt. The Harpy rose slowly, drawing herself up. The inexpressive steel of her helmet faceplate never once veered off Red. With a flick of her wrist, the bes'kad in her right-handed grasp windmilled in a modest flourish as she moved at a stalk, circling Reggie from a distance.
Like a predator, waiting for the right moment to strike.
<“If ise didn’t know any better, I’d say yous gettin’ soft with me, teach.”> Her cackle cut sharp in Kestri’s bone-chilling wind. No doubt Reggie already planned to make her eat her words and serve up a lesson she would not soon forget.
And Vara loved her for it.
Struggle and challenge her old friends, the Foundling always met the difficulty of Storm’s training with an appetite and fervor to match, no matter how grueling the task. This was not any different. Her crimson gaze shifted. Slow and methodical as she continued her measured prowl. And before long, she seized her moment.
The shistavanen closed in.
The snow crunched under her boots. Her posture shifted to a deceptive stance of defense. Her visor glared at the woman over the rim of her circular shield. Muscles tautened out of anticipation of her bes'kad. The Harpy counted on it, intent on answering her with a well executed riposte and draw blood.
Leave a mark no matter how small, proving she was worthy of her mentor’s efforts as ever.