10th of Spring, 510AV.
His long hair stuck to the back of his neck in thick strands. The sweat, formed from the constant exertion and the burning heat only marginally blocked by the leaves high above providing dappled shade for those below, ran in thick rivulets down his forehead that he was forced to wipe away with the back of his hand. That was a mistake. Kuur saw to it that this moment of distraction was taken to his full advantage and suddenly he found a fist thrown straight for his stomach - one he wasn't prepared for. Neither was he ready for the shoulder slamming into his chest.. or the elbow to the side of his cheek. But they came as well, before he had a chance to move out of the way. Once his father had begun his assault, no matter who it was on, he would not relent until either he had fallen or his opponent. Today, it would be his opponent - with stars in his eyes, Kwantu tipped backwards and fell onto his behind.
Which left him staring up into the disapproving, almost disappointed stare of his father. He clicked his tongue - which was ringed through with a stud made of bone - before gesturing with his hand. "Up. Come on." Kwantu didn't want to stand. It always lead to being knocked over again. Kuur wasn't one to be.. well, lenient with failure. He demanded absolute obedience, and before this session had even started, he knew that he wasn't getting it. "You've not been practising again. It shows." Another click of his tongue, but by then, Kwantu had already mostly tuned out. He didn't want to do this.. it wasn't something that he had asked for. It wasn't something that he even needed, no.. it was something that he'd been told that he would do. To prepare him, as if he needed preparing at all, for his three years of service.
"Now straighten up. Show me your pose. Prepare." At those words, he immediately lifted both fists and spread his legs a little. To which, his father immediately shook his head and sighed. "No. No, no. Don't hunch your shoulders. Lower your fists. Spread your legs." With each order, he complied. But even then, it wasn't enough to satisfy him. "You're not going to fight with your brothers. You're fighting with me. You need to put more effort into it than that. You need more discipline." A hand smacked against his spine, causing him to jump forwards - but before he even could, the hands clasped around his shoulders and held him still in the necessary position. His back felt strained.. tense and uncomfortable. He couldn't fight like this, he couldn't even focus on what he was supposed to be fighting over the uncomfortable feeling of his spine. Not that Kuur cared, and not that Kwantu was going to argue.
Soon, his father stood back before him once more. "I'm going to show you something. Try to hit me." His posture seemed firm, but the rest of his body - arms, legs, all of it - seemed moderately relaxed. It confused the boy.. but he though little of it, and stepped forwards to slug the best punch he could for his chest. The same method he used for all their other training sessions together.. and boy, there were plenty. The man refused to let his son go out into the military weak.. and so, they would train. Whenever Kuur was available.. wherever they could find space. Today, it was just the boundaries outside the clan lands.. tomorrow, it would be in Taloba itself. And the next day, who knew.
Kuur pushed the wrist to the side with one hand, and at the same time, closed his fingers around it to tighten his grip. The other hand rose as the arm extended itself out, and pressed against the elbow to push his arm out almost to the point of pain, before using the wrist as an anchor to twist it behind the boys back. He gasped and tried to catch his breath, or wriggle his way free.. but it was useless. He was locked in place and he knew it. So did Kuur. "Maybe now you understand. Now stand straight."
His long hair stuck to the back of his neck in thick strands. The sweat, formed from the constant exertion and the burning heat only marginally blocked by the leaves high above providing dappled shade for those below, ran in thick rivulets down his forehead that he was forced to wipe away with the back of his hand. That was a mistake. Kuur saw to it that this moment of distraction was taken to his full advantage and suddenly he found a fist thrown straight for his stomach - one he wasn't prepared for. Neither was he ready for the shoulder slamming into his chest.. or the elbow to the side of his cheek. But they came as well, before he had a chance to move out of the way. Once his father had begun his assault, no matter who it was on, he would not relent until either he had fallen or his opponent. Today, it would be his opponent - with stars in his eyes, Kwantu tipped backwards and fell onto his behind.
Which left him staring up into the disapproving, almost disappointed stare of his father. He clicked his tongue - which was ringed through with a stud made of bone - before gesturing with his hand. "Up. Come on." Kwantu didn't want to stand. It always lead to being knocked over again. Kuur wasn't one to be.. well, lenient with failure. He demanded absolute obedience, and before this session had even started, he knew that he wasn't getting it. "You've not been practising again. It shows." Another click of his tongue, but by then, Kwantu had already mostly tuned out. He didn't want to do this.. it wasn't something that he had asked for. It wasn't something that he even needed, no.. it was something that he'd been told that he would do. To prepare him, as if he needed preparing at all, for his three years of service.
"Now straighten up. Show me your pose. Prepare." At those words, he immediately lifted both fists and spread his legs a little. To which, his father immediately shook his head and sighed. "No. No, no. Don't hunch your shoulders. Lower your fists. Spread your legs." With each order, he complied. But even then, it wasn't enough to satisfy him. "You're not going to fight with your brothers. You're fighting with me. You need to put more effort into it than that. You need more discipline." A hand smacked against his spine, causing him to jump forwards - but before he even could, the hands clasped around his shoulders and held him still in the necessary position. His back felt strained.. tense and uncomfortable. He couldn't fight like this, he couldn't even focus on what he was supposed to be fighting over the uncomfortable feeling of his spine. Not that Kuur cared, and not that Kwantu was going to argue.
Soon, his father stood back before him once more. "I'm going to show you something. Try to hit me." His posture seemed firm, but the rest of his body - arms, legs, all of it - seemed moderately relaxed. It confused the boy.. but he though little of it, and stepped forwards to slug the best punch he could for his chest. The same method he used for all their other training sessions together.. and boy, there were plenty. The man refused to let his son go out into the military weak.. and so, they would train. Whenever Kuur was available.. wherever they could find space. Today, it was just the boundaries outside the clan lands.. tomorrow, it would be in Taloba itself. And the next day, who knew.
Kuur pushed the wrist to the side with one hand, and at the same time, closed his fingers around it to tighten his grip. The other hand rose as the arm extended itself out, and pressed against the elbow to push his arm out almost to the point of pain, before using the wrist as an anchor to twist it behind the boys back. He gasped and tried to catch his breath, or wriggle his way free.. but it was useless. He was locked in place and he knew it. So did Kuur. "Maybe now you understand. Now stand straight."
Myrian Tongue | Common Tongue | Tukant Tongue