The House

Al

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Sprint, always a sprint. Never a jog; grandmother says an attacker will never walk to me they will sprint to get me. My route is the out layer of the cottage, in which the seasons change automatically. These training sessions are designed to test my strength of survival and harden my core to do nothing else. The first mile is completely sprinkled in humi layers of ice; drawing the warmth from me, with no avail. I am accustomed to this; therefore, I push harder; my pace will not be slowed. A pine tree incased in oaks marks my point of change now the wind kisses at my shoulders. The somi opens a path in sight, whilst Spring itacki buds bloom along my path in the most exquisite of colors filling my nose with smells more relaxing than should be possible. Warmer and warmer it gets until the heat makes the blood in my veins boil. Three mortal miles, in the daylight of every season; And this is just the warm-up. As I round the last mile that male surfaces to view; his eyes are so rich in color. I wonder would his tears be of gold droplets: well I would never allow him to feel pain so…. Ahh!! Why does he fill my being with these emotions? What am I to do when he invades my thoughts!? The blasted male!

At the end of my route Grandmother awaits, and as I come to a halt circles to observe my physical condition. Grandmother has always had a very muscular build to her, pristine in the edge of her cheekbones. For a being of her age you would assume that she has gotten hinged in her body arrangement however, she is far better equipped for this training than I.

"Rarii you are not experiencing a mortal exhaustion. I deem this part of training over. On to the next" in the blandest tone she has ever given me. Not expected considering she is near a century curve of whipping me to the mountains after this session every eighth moon.

Somi: sun

Itacki: rare Fae flowers, mortal yellow in native color intricate petals that unfold in layers of four, known for their smell to relax those with immense power

She leads the way to a clearing, grass is non-existent here. Just the object called 'tartar' a mortal substance is within view in a bucket. Grandmother leans to reach inside, yet whilst I watch her intently there comes a motion from behind. A warrior blade of the most magnificent kind twirls to me, intricate symbols that are unknown to my eyes, infused with gold so much alike his that I stumble for a half thought.

Though it is stopped rather abruptly with my hand another comes from above, faster than the latter. I whip out my training luoki, flick my wrist upward; then peer just in time to see grandmother throw the entire bucket of 'tartar' at my feet. The one from above is carved in two, she dashes to me, resting her fists in my abdomen; the tar taking over my left foot. Engulfing my oak training boots, leather entailed: my most cherished. She is trying to prevent me from moving, yet I don't need boots to move, with one swift cut to each lace of my boots they begin to collapse. As I leap back; Grandmother comes to me then swiftly with grace and fierce determination radiating from her, in her dominant hand a luoki similar to mine in every way. I prepare myself. Her pace quickens faster than I have ever seen.

" Rarii . I will only say this once…. be ready", she states more demanding than ever.

"I always am grandmother" at that we collide dagger to dagger, that forms a barrier of pure power. An air of stillness settles, creatures stop moving about, frightened at what might have caused it.

Luoki: tribal dagger given when a female reaches her mating age