“Alright, Estelle,” Neil says. “Blythe needs a break. Your turn!”
My stomach drops as I climb over the short wooden wall into the dusty practice circle. Blythe, still panting from his sparring, pushes himself up to his feet with a groan and shakes Lyssa’s hand. “That was some good maneuvers! I think at this rate I have no hope of beating you.”
Lyssa smirks, leaning on her longsword-shaped practice stick. “You’re learning. Give yourself time to find the right weapon for you.”
“Clearly, it’s not the club,” Blythe drawls. He sets his club down by the array of weapons, where I’m standing. “What are you going to pick?” he asks.
(more…)