Mibbet and Rosalind were in hell (no not literally silly.) Rosalind had once felt bad that Elvira’s father seemed like a demonic drill instructor. But it turns out that with time some daughters do indeed take after their fathers.

“KEEP THOSE LEGS UP, don’t slow down, who said you could slow down? Don’t make me get Spikey the motivation pike, MOVE MOVE MOVE.” Elvira’s eyes were alight with fervour, and she was about one solitary maniacal laugh from full blown demonic drill instructor.

This was lap twenty, not even just around the training track, but round the whole circumference of the bloody castle grounds (The holes and damage caused by Rascal having been long since repaired.) And Mibbet was even wearing leg weights, she was sweating, heck probably her SWEAT was sweating after all of this. Her legs felt like if granted permission right now they would drop off, and she was seriously considering it as an option, after all it worked for newts, why not her? For about the tenth time that day she cursed biological limitations. On top of that she hated Spikey the motivation pike. A perfectly ordinary pike (see pointy git stick, not the fish) that Elvira had, for some inexplicable reason stuck two googly eyes on, and called her mascot.

It wouldn’t even have been so bad if that had been the only thing on the training menu for today. But it seemed the menu had 3 items, pain, pain, and agony, and none of them were optional. Today had started off with 500 axe swings Five Bloody Hundred. Leaving her pondering the detachable state of her arms as desperately as her legs. Then came push ups (ouch) ,chin ups (OUCH), squats (oweeeeeeeee), and now laps (gods have mercy please owwwwww.) Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse Elvira paused, and dropped the drill instructor face.

“Time for a break.” Mibbet sagged to the floor in a spirited impersonation of a rubber chicken, and barely caught her breath when the drill face came back, why? It had been six bloody seconds, “OK break over it’s jumping jacks next.”

So it continued, sit ups, crunches, punch bag, kick bag (Mibbet was really good at that one even with legs that seemed to be forgetting they had a skeletal structure, and trying their very best to do an impersonation of a pot of jelly.) Then came the weights, oh dear gods above, the weights. If Mibbet wasn’t particularly devout before now she was praying fervently to all the froggy gods, (as well we know all one of them,) for the torture to end. Unfortunately it seems that either the froggy god(s) didn’t listen or for some reason enforced bodybuilding, and escape from it wasn’t in their job description. So her prayers, at least in this case, went unanswered. Though Elvira did note that she managed despite a lack of hydration or bathroom breaks. (Not through them not being offered you understand, just for some reason she never seemed to the thirsty, although Elvira herself was parched from all the shouting.

After a few hours of diabolical demonic drill Mibbet was finally released, she practically crawled back to her room, and into her bed. Then pulled out a piece of chalk. Adding a mark to a tally on her wall alongside thirty other identical marks. Progress, then she realised she had to do it for another thirty days, and screamed into her pillow.

************************************************************************

King Deckham of Neiborlee observed the training quietly from a distance. Watching this mess brought about a feeling of nostalgia. Before long he was joined by his brother Ethelred.

“it’s good to see those two are getting along so well, even after all these years.”

“That’s what you call getting along well? That’s your standard? Really?” Asked King Ethelred, in an equal mix of intrigue, and aghast horror.

“We really need to increase that kick training, and the jumping, she’s really good at those, that weird skippy walk she’s adopted has really strengthened her legs up.”

“So do you think she’ll be ready?”

“Course she will,” replied Deckham. “We’re gonna make damned sure of it.”

“Good, because they’re on the move again, that sqwoomph was no accident.”

Deckham eyed his brother for a moment, it seems Ethelred was a little more prepared these days. Plus he’d figured that much out. That was definite progress. The lords were scum, they both knew it, but it was so hard to catch them at it. They always used catspaws and proxies to do their dirty work. Then once their usefulness was at an end showed no hesitation in disposing of them. Even the recent assassin had mysteriously vanished. (The guard was found unconscious spouting some story about hooded men in pink robes afterwards, but his story made no sense, and he reeked of cut price whisky so he was fined a months pay and fired.)

They couldn’t even figure out what had happened after the sqwoomph. (things tended to get a little confusing after a sqwoomph, they take the fabric of reality, and twist it into a knot, then let it unwind all in one go. (Battalions of ballerina bison bouncing about the castle for a few minutes while the plants in the royal gardens all turn temporarily twenty feet tall and carnivorous tends to be something of a distraction from anything else really.) They had tried, but so far all they had figured out was that his niece had vanished from the safety of the castle and reappeared in the village that shall not be named. (Because the decision hadn’t been reached what to call it yet, though a committee had been formed to help reach a decision and.... well we all know how well that usually works out.) With absolutely trace of travelling the intervening space. Though it did seem to have changed the kid somewhat, hopefully for the better. He loved her, but she could definitely be a handful.

“Well then we’ll just have to make sure she’s ready won’t we.”