46. The Fight

He entices his victims in the dusk, showing the golden of his skin, the shimmer of his beauty. – Bloodsongs

~~~

(Art)

Art was standing in front of Shalom, a sword in his hand. It felt heavy, strange in his hands, but the knowledge of why he was here, why he was doing things he hadn’t done before, was profound. It was earth shattering.

And the knowledge was just beyond the curtain of smoke, floating around, tiptoeing in and out as Shalom and he sparred, thrusted, defended.

“Open your legs. Balance your feet. Move as if you are dancing. Sword fight is a kind of dancing. Easy on feet.”

Art did as he was taught. When they were both tired, they sat down and watched the women – his woman, and Shalom’s.

They were both light on feet, quick as wind, and Art couldn’t believe that Aurora had never touched a sword before, never fought a battle before.

She looked like she was born for this, born with a sword in her hand.

“Aurora is marvelous. She is born for this.” Shalom took a gulp of his water.