Song of the Winter Solstice
He had always favored this type of sword.
The hair, once calm, began to billow again, and it swiftly surged toward me. I tightened my grip on the cutlass' hilt, bracing for the assault. The weight shifted to my stance, and every muscle in my arms tensed, readying to execute a formidable blade defense.
The hair strands, thick and looming, advanced. I swallowed hard, awaiting their attack. Just as the thick tendrils seemed about to pierce me, I swiftly shifted my stance, angling my swords diagonally downward.
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