( it hurts him too, in a muted way. like the television barely audible from the next room. he knows he should feel something, that something indefinable is wrong about this whole thing, but the what is sand through his fingers while the order to protect this evening rests in his hand like his swords. real and true.
he swings his blade as she approaches, trying to catch her strike and use the momentum to send her off balance, to give himself that opening to make his own attack with his other sword.
for the sake of this order, whoever might be giving it. )
no subject
he swings his blade as she approaches, trying to catch her strike and use the momentum to send her off balance, to give himself that opening to make his own attack with his other sword.
for the sake of this order, whoever might be giving it. )