Closed Tentative ground (Yomilla)

[Reed]

Date: 1st of Fall, 520 AV

The Antonious training grounds smelled almost like home at times. Between the sweat, blood, and the sharp tinge of wood smoke, it was almost like he had never left Sunberth. Then again, nothing else like this city was the same. An that was a good thing, or so Reed thought.

He didn’t know why his mind went to such places in the wee hours of the morning. It just always was. As routine as slipping on the platemail he was now clad head to toe in. His feet were already starting to ache from where the rigid plate dug into the top of his ankle. Oddly enough, that was a reassuring pain. One that reminded him about how his circumstances had changed. He was starting to thicken up for instance, something he’d never had the chance to do bleeding in the blood pits for his master. While they had kept him fed, he had never been well fed, and certainly didn’t have access to the fare they gave him here. It was a good life, an easier life in some ways. A harder one in others.

These squires around him were apart of that hard part. They milled uncertainly about until their instructor walked onto the grounds. Then like a wave, one by one they straightened up, Reed quickly following suit. Immediately a plate pressed against his back, reminding him that he had been putting off getting the armor resized to fit him as he had been growing by leaps and bounds these past few seasons. Something he might see to this afternoon maybe, provided he wasn’t too tired. He was always so tired though, so maybe that shouldn’t be a factor.

“Alright, let’s begin with some light sparring. Pair off.” The Knights voice rang out cool and crisp in the dim light of the morning. Reed almost nodded before he remembered himself and then sought about finding a partner, preferably someone nearest to him. His eyes settled on a squire that was about a head shorter than him and seemed to be looking for a partner as well.

Walking stiffly over, Reed offered a small nod after clearing his throat. “I was thinking about trying out the rocky terrain today if you need a sparring partner.” He said quickly, not looking at her for long before continuing on past to walk deeper into the training grounds. Gradually the man made terrain changed from grass to one littered with a number of large rocks, and a gradually more gravely surface. Reed stopped after walking a few paces to strap on a shield to his forearm. Then finally, he turned to see if he had been followed.

It would have been awkward if he hadn’t but it wouldn’t have been the first time that had happened. There had been growing pains when he had first joined the squires. Pains still felt when he came across someone unused to encountering a native of Sunberth. Reed had learned not how to hold a grudge against them. Or at least, he adamantly tried to.

Almost hesitantly, he drew out his sword and stood at an angle. Ready to see what shape this day would take.

[Yomila]

Yomila rose as she always did: Early. Dreadfully so. It was an impossible habit to shake, even now living within such an enclosed space with so little sky to see.

The Ethaefal's patterns were well rehearsed , mechanical, methodical, done without thinking. A splash of water on her face to wake her and wash the sleep away, then smoothing hands over her crown to settle unruly flyaways. Next, long fingers dug in to her tangled tresses to bind them into an utilitarian braid that would sit neatly and without discomfort beneath her helm.

Dutifully, she would spend at least a bell on her plate armor, cradling it in her limbs as she buffed the steel with a pant leg until it gleamed. A naturally proud and vain creature, she took pride in her belongings and appearance - even in her dowdy and battered day form. But there was more to it; the armor was slowly becoming an extension of her and she had to make sure it was in top condition.

Her dark eyes roamed the surface and the flickered to each fastener, each buckle. Anything she could take inventory of she would, testing everything to ensure no frays or substantial wear or damage had come to the multitude of pieces that fitted together like a puzzle once assembled on her form.

Her body stretched and reached, twisted and bent, testing the layers of chainmail and plate on her compact body, feeling for which might be too tight or too loose. Fingers fluttered where needed, adjusting accordingly where she could until everything felt as it should.

Or how she imagined it should.

It still didn't feel right but she was adapting. Acclimating to the extra weight, bulk and feel.

She fastened her sword belt and hefted up her shield, helm clutched in her other hand before she left her spartan apartment to head towards the training grounds, stride long and purposeful. Her stride changed once she reached the section of main paths that were open overhead, slowing, bare face turning up appreciatively towards the hazy morning light. Her eyes closed and she drew in a deep breath, steadying herself and her tired body for the gruelling day ahead.

The morning continued to unfold as most had in the past since she began her path to knighthood: the Ethaefal one of the first to arrive and positioning herself with her back to the rest who filed in, black eyes flashing over her shoulder on occasion. She was familiar with most by sight alone; familiarity by way of actual association outside of clanging weapons on shields and armor had yet to be truly achieved with any. She was a creature prone to brooding. Snippy comments and cold looks tended to keep conversations with other to a polite minimum.

She had convinced herself she did not mind. She even believed herself until the Weaponmaster put them in pairs today. Yomila had the good grace to pull the visor of her helm down before her face rearranged itself into a scowl.

The Ethaefal wasn't surprised when those near her turned away to seek others. Except for one who leveled a suggestion at her.

No.

It was a statement.

She felt herself fall into stride behind him and she narrowed her eyes in realization of how easily it had happened. She paused stubbornly as a result, chin lifting, waiting until she could trail at a more leisurely pace. She would follow orders from the Weaponmaster and ranked Knights. She would not follow orders from a fellow squire.

The one she approached was large. Tall. Solid beneath his plate armor. She noticed with some appreciation that he held himself in a way one would who was comfortable in a melee. Absent of fear.

She was the opposite, all awkward as she worked on her grip on the heavy shield, the broadsword that was just a bit too weighty for her untrained arm.

There had been a saying she had clung to since her arrival, something silly and said off the cuff by one of Tyak's sons. Find the biggest, the strongest, the best. Learn from them. And so she would, a cursory look around confirming the squire before her to, at the very least, be the biggest.

Her body already protested the oncoming onslaught but her pride bristled and resisted the need for self-preservation. The need to turn and seek out a more evenly matched partner. She needed to be better. She could only achieve this by pushing herself.

It was obvious to anyone looking that she was wary of the loose rock under her boots and her body moved into an attack stance with far less poise. She wobbled some, repositioned a foot and shifted her weight before settling once more into her stance, shield raised and sword held at a slight angle.

Everything felt too heavy. The ground unsure beneath her feet. Her body tensed but she gave a nod before hefting up her chin as she shifted back onto a heel and then shot forward. Her back foot lost traction and she faltered but still swung her sword with a grunt, having to use more force and more fo her body in hopes of closing the gap between them. Extended as she was, her balance was off.

She could already feel herself falling.

tag: Reed
notes: Let the fun begin!

[Reed]

Reed generally preferred when his opponents were quiet. So seldom was that the case in the pits or Johnny's cage fights that a little silence was almost magical. It kept him calm which made it easier to keep him focused on the task at hand. He saw the swing coming and stepped forward to meet it with his shield extended to eat up the ground between them. His left foot twisted to the right on the pebbly surface as he took a step forward.

To keep his balance, his shield arm came reflexively down to rest the rim of the buckler on the top of his extended thigh. The sword scrapped off the shield high, hitching his shield arm backwards and towards the inside of his grip. Taking an abrupt step backwards with his left, he made a swing of his own. His sword came across horizontally. He hoped to catch the edge of his opponents shield with the sword's guard but he would be satisfied with forcing them to back up from the swing. His opponent took the blow left of center on their shield, and whether it was from the force of the blow or their footing, fell to one knee as the sword tumbled from their grasp.

Reed hesitated but a moment before dropping his own sword and extending his gauntleted hand. Instead of taking it, his opponent scrambled away from him, grabbing their sword as they beat a hasty retreat. He held a hand up as he squared himself up with the squire. Unsure if they were going to make a break for him or not, he shifted slightly to put his shield between them while he kept his free hand upraised, in plain view.

"Easy now. No harm in taking an offered hand. We're in this together to learn how to fight alongside one another, not humiliate the other." He said, speaking the words that had been said to him during a time that seemed so long ago now. Reed saw a lot of himself in this fighter's movements, and part of him wanted to keep them from making the same mistakes he did initially. Even now, it was hard to break from the old cut throat habits he'd learned in Sunberth. To ignore blatant opportunities in favor of his clumsy sword maneuvers. He had to constantly remind himself that this was just a training exercise and that he was supposed to be learning the sword. Not devolving into his more animalistic tendencies.

While he watched his opponent with a measured look, Reed took a step backwards. Instead of immediately taking up his sword, he used the breathing room to reset his position. With his feet evenly spaced, he braced braced himself for whatever was coming next, if indeed his opponent decided to continue to lead the sparring session. Reed tended to be much more of a follower than a leader so he didn't much mind them taking control of the situation. It was easier to react than plan out an attack with a weapon that he was still unfamiliar with. Finally he reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and held it across his body so it balanced across the top of his buckler. His frame tensed for the expected blows.

[Yomila]

She was dropping even before her opponent swung, her center of gravity too off kilter in the stance the stretch and slipped foot had put her in. Her knee hit the ground as the blow to her shield reverberated through her arm, shoulder and entire being. Simultaneously, her sword shook out of her unskilled grip, gauntleted palm colliding with the ground as momentum took her, nearly sending her further down to her face.

It took every bit of strength to keep herself upright.

Her teeth clenched behind her visor and her black eyes flashed through the slit, first to his own helm then down as he moved, trying to figure out his next move based on how he positioned himself and then, finally, to his own sword.

Much to her surprise, it dropped.

She didn't wait to see what he would do next. Anticipating a more personal and physical onslaught, she clambered for her sword and then shot back just as unsteadily as she had shot forward, desperate to put distance between them.

The proffered hand was another surprise. She refused it as she straightened fully and reset her shield before her body, sword arm flexing, swinging the broadsword into place in something reminiscent of a guard that she had seen others assume before attacking. The Ethaefal then held still.

"I'm not humiliated," she hissed hotly. Stubbornly, she pushed more words through her teeth, breath already a bit ragged from the surge of adrenaline and shock her body was experiencing, "The enemy wouldn't stop to extend a hand. They'd have jumped at the chance to cut me in two."

Then, more steady, steely, "Is it not better to be prepared for that?"

Despite vibrating with adrenaline and looking ready to strike, she continued to hold, making no move to attack while he remained unarmed. Yomila - or the Drykas she assumed by day - was a natural survivor and she would not deny that she would have were this a life-or-death situation. But there was also the very real part of her - the Ethaefal and newly minted Marassa - that would hesitate to ever strike and unarmed opponent.

She knew the term honor. It was a tenet the Knights followed fiercely, a code espoused by those wanting to make it through the ranks, bandied around with such fervor it was borderline annoying. Even the Topaz clan she had lived with prior to traveling to Syliras followed such a belief. She knew it, it was practically embedded in her bones, but it was a word she would not attach to herself. She couldn't; she wasn't worthy of such a descriptor when such a word was made for people like Tyak. She fought fairly; she was not yet honorable. The distinction was important.

The tension that had grown between her shoulder blades eased as he took up his word and slid into position but she still did not move, eyes flickering fiercely over the way he held himself, his sword. There was a certain grace that sword fighters had, their movements often like a dance. Even those who fought with more aggression still had that same discipline, assumed those same tried and true stands and holds that were so very unknown to her.

She lifted her chin as her arms finally lowered her weapon and shield a fraction to relieve her muscles of the strain holding them high put on her body. Remaining on guard and ready to act if he advanced, she decided to throw words rather than her sword. "That stance," her black eyes pinned him through her helm, "what is it? Do you know more?"

She watched his body shift, head bow, and continued, "Show me." It was a question that felt like a demand, as Yomila's questions had a habit of being. They had claws and dug, unrelenting.

"I don't think there is a name for what I am doing now," came his reply, "and if there was, I did not learn it. But I'll show you what has worked well for me so far, and perhaps you can improve upon it."

"We can improve upon it," she added, pointedly. Her own stance relaxed and she stepped closer, regarding him with her chin still elevated, "we're in this together, right?" Her words had lost their heat.

As he began to move and shift his weight into a specific position, she hesitated before offering, "I'm Yomila." Her eyes watched as he made a show of how he held his sword and she began to mimic him, positioning herself to mirror his own stance.

tag: Reed
notes: -

[Reed]

He let the words wash over him, not exactly surprised at the response. The words had felt patronizing oming from his lips. It almost made him chuckle. Which was better than the alternative. Merdem was starting to stir now Perhaps he was feeling overprotective. Reed didn't always have the easiest time interpreting his brother's emotions. Especially when they started to bleed into his own.

"Fair point." Reed said slowly as he crooked a smile. His tone was placating with an edge of suspicion as he became wary of the other squire. Her judgement was sound but her tone pricked his pride. Something he was willing to let slide even though it came at a significant internal effort on his part. However he could hardly blame her for the orneriness of his brother. Reigning him in was his chore alone.

Moving with exaggerated slowness, he sent his sword through a few practice swipes before reaffirming his grip on the handle. Naturally his hand choked up high on the handle so that the inner lip of his gauntlet hooked over top the guard. After all these seasons, it still felt odd to swing something with such balance. His hands were used to wielding improvised weapons, and those he took off his opponents. Likewise his style when he lead things was akin to the charge of a wild dog.

Holding his buckler arm against his side so that it rested on his hip late, he nodded as the woman spoke. It was a good question. He might have asked it before if he had the head for such things. Alas, they would just have to do with what he knew for now. His shoulders popped as he rolled them backwards and straightened out his spine. This armor had a nasty habit of causing him to hunch over if he didn't stretch now and again.

Reed arched an eyebrow at her response, and he decided he liked her fire. There was a smidge of Sunberth in her even if she had never been to the city.

"Why don't We begin then." He said as he suddenly became more conscientious of the way he held himself. The pull of the armor and how it felt on his swings. Reed started out by straightening his arms downward so that the tip of his sword gently grazed the ground.

"Reed." Came his reply as he sucked in a breath and arched his back in a stretch that ate up a few ticks. Then limbered, he took a step backwards. Forwards. To the right. Back diagonally. To the left. Up diagonally. He could feel her eyes upon him even if he couldn't see them through the visor.

"What works for me might not necessarily work for you. I like to get a feel for how my armor movesbefore I decide how I am going to stand in it. To know what it can and cannot do." Reed said as he repeated the short cycle of footwork before coming to a stop with a decent amount of space between them.

Slowly he raised his sword. Its tip was angled up and to the right briefly before he slashed it across the air between them. His buckler remained protectively against his side for the maneuver and the practice slashes to follow as Reed slowly became more sure of his footing.

When he was ready to resume their spar his feet were pointed out, and even spaced apart. His arms were bent at right angles. His sword was held at a middling distance from the ground, neither high nor low.

"Lets see what you picked up." He said before taking the opportunity to attack. His first step was with his left as he lunged forward to wind up the swing with his forearm. As such he was leading the charge with his buckler. After taking another step with his right, he closed the distance between them. His buckler arm swung across to the left as he tried to make an opening for his sword that followed just ticks behind. Coming from the middle, he slashed down and across with the blade, hoping to catch her unawares with the maneuver.

Her eyes made the mistake of following the buckler rather than his short sword. Instinctively, she leaned back as it passed and then shot forward, thrusting with her broadsword in an attempt to catch his middle. Then she saw his sword coming for her leg and brought her shield arm to bear, weakening her thrust. The blow rattled off of the large shield, jamming it hard against her overextended sword arm in a jolt of pain that almost made her drop the blade.

Reed took the thrust low on his breastplate and promptly recoiled in shock. Lurching to the left, he hastily brought his shield arm in on his side while he took a step back with his right foot. It slid about a half an inch too far. Overextended, he prepared to hop back with his left foot as his eyes fixated on what the squire was going to do next.

[Yomila]

The Ethaefal appreciated how slow Reed moved as he went through his motions. It gave her adequate time to check and compare her own movements to his as she went through the motions and her eyes were restless, flicking between her feet, sword hand, hips, shield arm and his own in turn.

She tried different grips. His own way of letting his fingers hook over the guard felt wrong in the broadsword's basket grip so she experimented with some of her own. She had chosen this particular sword for its extra reach - as she deemed her day form wholly inadequate and small - but that made it more awkward to an untrained arm than the short sword he held. She was stubbornly set on the weapon and settled with her thumb resting against at the junction between hilt and guard, the knuckle of her index cradling the other side. It felt the surest of anything she had tried yet and she gave the implement some experimental swings.

She went through the steps and rotated her opposite arm, trying to find a position that didn't tax her shield-arm as much. Every time she came to a stop and went to move again, she felt her feet scrapping and skidding on the loose and uneven terrain. Her body wobbled and her off-hand shot out to try and steady herself. She grimaced.

These were basic, slow moves and she was struggling. It ate at her - her ineptness. Her worthlessness. Her frustrated groan was audible but she forced herself to go through the steps again, focusing on how the ground felt beneath her feet while mentally trying to think of how to adjust and shift her weight to adapt.

It was a futile endeavor, her form continuing to wobble. Feet failing to find purchase.

She had a feeling the footwork was meant to settle her but it had done the opposite for her. Frustrated, she finally sank into her heels, finding a crouched position not too dissimilar to his own being the most stable. Her feet were still too narrow but she had swiveled her toes to point as his had which made a difference.

She stood shield-side on this time and felt a noticeable difference whereas before she had been too front-on. Here, she felt she could thrust more easily and utilize her hips and stride to put more force into the maneuverer. Her frustrations were eating at her but she gritted her teeth as he spoke and readied herself for his attack.

Her eyes dropped to his foot, then his buckler, and eyeballed a window where she could thrust her sword. She didn't notice his sword swinging in low until it was too late. Instinct forced her to pull her shield in to guard herself but her sword-arm was still awkwardly extended. Her feet crunched and rolled on the uneven surface and she once more grunted. She would have lost her hold on the sword if not for the basket handle and held on to it through sheer force of will alone.

She was shocked to have felt her thrust had connected. Once the adrenaline kick she had felt from warding off his own swing had worn off, she felt rather pleased and boldly tried to follow him as he retreated, his movements nimble despite his size. She stomped, loose terrain crunching and shifting beneath, testing her ankles.

It unnerved her to see him move so easily so she pushed forward, feet scrambling as she drove her large shield into him. Her eyes shut, blacking out the world around her; she threw her weight into it and felt a shudder as the shield connected.

The resistance gave suddenly. It was a strange, weightless feeling.

She didn't see him on the ground. She felt him as her momentum carried her on, her own legs tangling up with his. The weightless feeling returned as she dropped, crashing awkwardly - a knee, her sword hand, her shoulder. Her shield edged into the ground. She felt a hard pull on her shoulder as it did.

Another grunt.

She slid back onto her knees, gathered her feet under her and then laughed suddenly, heartily.

"You look solid as stone," she heaved, a smile in her voice. "I didn't expect you to move."

Leaving her sword on the ground, she reached for the hand he held out and helped haul him back to his feet, her own still unsteady as she swayed. She felt buoyant and dipped to picked up her sword, rose, and turned to try and find her feet again, sliding into that same position she had assumed previously. She felt a flush of excitement and her blood sung. The uncomfortable weight of everything sloughed away, leaving only the thrill of combat. The thrill of being alive.

"Again?" The claws were back but they toyed this time, teasing instead of latching.

"The best techniques are passed on by the survivors."

[Reed]

She did something he didn't expect. She charged him. Reed didn't have time to do anything besides cross his arms in front of himself as she body blocked him to the ground. He fell with a heavy thud, the grvel scrapping at the backside of his armor with a sheer screech His head bounced off of the ground which caused a distinct ringing in his ears as he sat up on his elbows reflexively. Disoriented, he registered that she was standing above him and he was at a distinct disadvantage.

Merdem's impulse was to roll out of the way. Maybe try and bring her to the ground by grappling her leg. However Reed wasn't having any of that. He'd learned when it was okay to take a loss, though it did take him a moment to compose himself before he extended a hand for aid. It could have been a trick if Merdem had his way but she took his hand anyways, an with her help, he found his feet.

Reed shook his head briefly before looking up to watch the squire go back to her ready posture. He had to admire her stamina. While they hadn't been at it for very long, he could feel his muscles tightening from the exertion. It was like sprinting fighting in this armor. A few powerful moves and he felt spent. There was a slight grimace at that thought. Endurance was definitely push himself for this spar. Picking up his sword and buckler, he assumed a stance across form his fellow squire.

"Glady" he said before raising his buckler and holding his shortsword out low to his side. Warily, he eyed that large shield of hers as he paced forward. When he was close enough to take a swipe from her broadsword, his buckler came up, shifting to try and deflect the blow. There was a thud along his left arm as the shield connected with the blade, keeping it away from him as his right foot kicked out to strike the squire's shield which ended up knocking her over. A little surprised, Reed hesitated, his blade poised to thrust until it registered.

Slowly, he let his sword arm fall loose at his side as he took a step back to allow the squire to get up on her own. Though he didn't know her well, he got the inkling that she wasn't going to accept a helping hand even if he had offered it. Maybe because of the way she had treated his advice earlier or her overall fierceness of style. Suddenly Reed was a lot more curious about where this squire came from that he had been before. If no Sunberth he wanted to know where they raised folks this fierce, an what had brought her here. He wasn't foolish enough to think that she had a story like his own, but thought it might be worth it to hear her story nonetheless.

Once she had gotten to her feet again, he would stand back to allow her to lead the attack this time. He would be holding his shield out in front of his center while his sword was held at waist height as it had been before.

[Yomila]

Yomila was running on pure adrenaline now, high from their last exchange. It coursed through her, pumping and pushing her on. It made her neglect the heavy fatigue in her shield-arm, the twinge in the joint from the previous jarring sensation, the pull and strain in her sword-arm, legs and core.

It carried her through the next pass, broadsword swinging in a hack that was more desperation than skill, and pushed her through the shudder that ran through her entire form as it met his buckler. It was the sweat that collected on her face beneath her helm, her stomach beneath her bindings, her back.

His boot kicked at her shield and she toppled onto her backside.

It exploded out of her in a rush of breath as her back hit the ground, winded. Suddenly, ever ache, every twinge, all the fatigue in her limbs hit her at once as the adrenaline bled out of her. Suddenly, it felt like the weight of her platemail was restraining her, pinning her to the ground. She laid there, for ticks, unable to move, sword still in her fingers but shield dropped somewhere off to her side.

It wasn't until her lungs could expand again that she took three big breaths and then struggled back to her feet. It took her another few ticks to take up her shield, more yet to get a good grip. Her body felt like lead and the bicep in her shield-arm protested. But she reset herself with a faint groan, carefully placing her feet. Every shift of the uneven terrain below her caused her tight leg muscles to sing with fatigue and pain and she gritted her teeth against the feeling.

The Ethaefal was tenacious. Her pride and stubbornness would carry her until she collapsed.

She exhaled audibly and settled into her legs, shield-arm flexing to raise it to shoulder height. Her broadsword was held tight at her side, blade hovering next to the edge of her large shield, point angled at his own. The Ethaefal took another breath, trying to calm her screaming muscles and clear her mind, black eyes flicking over his stance. She searched for openings. Soft spots. She had surprised him last time she went for his middle - would that tactic work again?

It was a split-tick where she weighed her options and then advanced.

Her initial step was careful, not wanting to repeat her first pass where she had slipped and lost her balance. Her second was stronger but she lumbered from fatigue, movements slowed. She used all her might to try and shoulder her shield towards him again. It was intended as a feint but her muscles were too taxed that it was easily seen for what it was. She drew that shoulder back, twisting, and thrust her sword forward.

She felt the jarring connection as he fended the blade away with his buckler and then a surprised, strangled noise escaped her as he followed through, gripping the plate of her forearm. She froze, not expecting that, shield-arm flagging and dropping.

She yanked back on her arm feebly, desperately. Boots scraped on the ground as she tried to back away, tried to add space, knowing how vulnerable she would be if he managed to get a second hand on her.

"The best techniques are passed on by the survivors."

[Reed]

While she caught her breath, Reed had time to reflect on the grit of his foe so far. On her curious choice of shield and blade. She wasn't at all what he expected for one of her stature. Instead of along the lines that Galina tended to keep to, this squire preferred to slug it out. Which was impressive in its own way. The squire didn't have to wield such a large shield but she choose to become stronger. To fight like a proper warrior. Reed hadn't seen such mettle from many humans before, and this one was proving exceptional.

His eyes squinted a fraction as he studied her helmeted head. Well, he couln't be quite sure she was human. He couldn't rightly see her skin or anything under all that armor, though her body type seemed to reinforce that expectation. When she continued to lay on the ground, he actually wavered on whether or not to help her up. What if he'd accidentally injured her?

Then she silenced that doubt as she started to climb to her feet and slowly armed herself. Reed could sympathize with her movements. His joints were aching something fierce with what he'd put them through so far, and his sword arm was dragging slightly to the left. Fortunately his buckler was light enough that it wasn't hard to keep it aloft.

Her charge this time felt as if it was done in slow motion. Reed tensed in anticipation of the charge, his eyes flickering from her shield to what little of her sword he could see from this angle. There was no time to admire the charge, or to think about how much that large shield must weigh. There was only time for action, and his was to keep his buckler firmly in front as she struck with the broadsword. As her arm stretched forward, his came up through the inside of her reach in an effort to grapple her sword arm.

With a clank of metal, their arms stuck together as he pulled her in while she was pulling away. Despite his efforts, they clung together for only the briefest of moments before abruptly separating when his grip gave. Off balance, Reed stumbled back a couple of paces onto one knee, an it took him considerable effort to bring his sword and shield up in front of him in defense after he stopped his fall.

If she was caught in a similar situation, Reed would use the opportunity to come back onto his feet where he then caught his breath. It was harsh and loud through his visor as he leaned forward. "What do you say? One more bout to determine who's buying drinks after?" Although he was trying to put on a brave face, he was far from certain that he would come out on top in their next encounter. He could hardly swing his sword anymore which was why he'd gone for that grapple in the last bout. Whatever happened next, it would use all he had left, and he wasn't sure if that was going to be enough to best this spirited squire. Still, it wasn't in him not to try he thought to himself with a slight grin.

[Yomila]

Yomila tensed as she resisted his hold. It then felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her when his grip slipped, both falling away from each other.

She yelped and discarded the heavy shield. She would need that arm for balance, to catch herself as her feet tripped up beneath her on the loose terrain. Her legs tangled and, where he dropped cleanly to a knee, she crumpled clumsily, momentum continuing to carry her to her seat and then back further onto an elbow with a huff.

Her sword sat at an odd angle in her lap. She rotated her wrist and her forearm screamed. She ignored it, managing to get her sword pointed out and lifted it up off her lap. It would be useless against any attack but she was set on not looking weak. Not giving up. On giving it everything she had until her body gave out and there was nothing left to give.

The tension that coursed through her settled as she heard Reed's words and she took advantage of this brief reprieve in their spar, sword hand dropping to her side. She got back to her feet with effort and took an exaggerated breath that shook her frame - more for his benefit. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, body still feeling light and alive despite the fatigue and muscle strain, and there was respect and gratitude in her eyes as she regarded the other squire through the slit in her helm.

Her body would be feeling this for some time... but it was worth it.

"My body feels ruined," the smile was back in her voice even though it was rough and ragged, "I doubt I could lift a flagon." She let the joke hang as she retrieved her shield, grunting as she forced it up and then swung her sword into position.

"My first stop was going to be the baths but... I can't turn down a free drink." Her pride flared, making her sound more confident than she truly was.

Yomila was the sort to go through the motions with the other squires when it was expected of her to do so but it wasn't common for her to actively seek out company. Taciturn and moody, she usually did the opposite, finding her leave the first tick she could. With Reed, she felt like she wasn't being kept at a mutual arms length. He was treating her an equal and had put her through her paces. He was patient. Part of her was curious and wanted to know more about him.

The other part knew they were both exhausted and the drinks would likely be few, which suited her.

She advanced, slower this time, and, instead of instantly striking out, she took two steps to her left and then thrusted forward with her blade. She hoped her position would make it harder for him to reach with his buckler or to make him work to swing around to defend himself. It also meant she was doing less with her shield-arm - which was screaming at her. If he chose to strike back, she knew she wouldn't have the strength to swing it around to guard herself.

He used his sword to block instead, the two pieces of steel clashing and ringing, sliding against one another to the hilt. She grunted loudly and slumped forward against the force, following her blade as it glanced off his pauldron, and spun, foolishly turning her back to him as she did so and dropping her heavy shield once more.

Panting, she took a number of quick steps forward and then swung back around to face him, sword swinging upward, looking ready to fend any oncoming blows despite being too winded and weak to do so.

"The best techniques are passed on by the survivors."