cold clockwork // sword dance & training

[merlin]

AS OF LATELY IVE BEEN DRINKING TO FILL SOME VICIOUS VOID
"speech." . 'thoughts' . attack

it had been weeks, weeks since she'd shown herself. she owed them, her groupmates, an apology for that. not that she had a high rank or anything, but she felt she should still give them an apology should she run across them. after the fire, she'd been focused on resting her body as much as she could, to avoid making the wounds hurt more than they did before. the scars were tight on the best of days, and she knew that seven would have chewed her out if she'd been out and about before now. even now, she was probably pushing the medical reaper's ire, but she couldn't stay still any longer.

getting to her paws now, the cream tabby bodied woman would shuffle over to where her sword rested against the wall, the glimmer of it's hilt and blade taunting her, the weight of it felt so right when everything else felt so wrong and painful. closing her eyes for a moment as she stood there with the sword in her mouth, exhaling slowly as she let herself get used to the familiarity of it again. some things wouldn't change, and she relied on her sword for most of her life. it had become a major part of her trade in her many years.

stepping from the shelter of the home that she'd stayed within, merlin would carefully step down the stairs, sword in maw as she made her way slowly through camp, headed out to an open patch of sunlight and space, eyes half-lidded as she stepped carefully and precisely. putting her sword down, she would begin to stretch out her aching form until she could move easily, spinning on place quietly after picking up her sword again. it felt wonderful to hear the air howl over the curvature of the weapon, a sense of peace sweeping over her as she began a sort of dance, moving with ease and lightness in her steps. it would be so much easier in her lioness body, but she would make due with this one.

as if following a silent song, she twisted and spun, her heart beginning to rise and thunder in her chest, bringing with it memories of battles and companions of the past, her illusory companions appearing in her eyes, and with them the feelings that she couldn't understand. there, within the confines of her mind, would stretch before her a field, filled with the smiling faces of her friends and family, her father the first to step forward with his old sword, his ghostly blade colliding with her own and pulling a grin from her. the old man was as strong as ever, she could feel it now, the reverberations running through her sword and muscles in memory of anticipation, eyes flashing with a light that hadn't been seen in some time.

she had been lost for so long, that something that had once been routine for her, now was a saving grace, as if some deity had reached out their hand to her, to save her from falling even further. taking a deep breath as she spun to parry an imaginary blow, tail streaming behind her, so wrapped up in the different movements that this required, mindless of any who might have come to watch or to join in with her. truth be told, she couldn't learn all that much from the memories alone, for they were often incomplete, for she hadn't seen the true fighting style of all behind their own blades. she could only mentally replicate all that she had seen, she could only try to recreate those movements, creating her own countermovement to each one she imagined.

she was unaware of the cuts that she left in the tough ground of the swamp, only feeling temporary resistance against her blade when she cut down each foe that she could see in her mind, her physical eyes closed tightly, relying on her senses and memories. each pull and strain of muscle felt both painful and invigorating, pushing her onwards, she wouldn't stop until there was nothing left of her strength, until she was a pile of limbs on the ground. leaping to avoid a blow that others couldn't see, she twisted midair to land as gracefully as she could manage, opening her eyes, seeing that she'd landed on the lip of the fountains that she practiced near. panting faintly as she shook herself from her memories, surprise lilting through her as she gazed upon the series of cuts and nicks in the ground from the tip of her sword, a flustered laugh escaping her as she finally set her blade down to catch her breath. she felt free, like she was newly reborn.

AS I DISGUISE IT WITH MY ILLUSIONS OF MODERATION AND CHOICE.
merlin e. gwynne of tanglewood. -- feline shapeshifter.

credit @/teef