It seemed to Zara that Walker found some motivation in her training, or torment would be a better name, maybe? He was around more but he stopped hunting and scavenging for two people, so Zara had to incorporate hunting into her daily routine on top of getting slashed to ribbons, and bruised into oblivion.

Her body was a collage of fresh cuts, angry welts, brown scabs, black bruises, yellow splotches and tin white scars. It seemed as though Walker was always finding new angels to attack and strike at her. But, despite the pain and constant failure, she could feel herself lasting longer with each spar. She still couldn’t leave a mark on Walker but she could feel that at the end of each spar there was less and less damage.

Not that it soothed the feeling of defeat much. Progress was slow, and her need for hunting hindering it so she started to shift to more reliable sources of food, wild berries, tubers, roots and such, the smell of Walker’s roasting meat was a constant reminder that she wasn’t good enough. But admitting such a weakness never crossed her mind so she ate what she could scavenge and when.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Time passed and the training seemed truly useless to Zara for the first time since she started. It was reaching late summer when the lack of progress finally broke her. Weeks of trying, weeks of getting slashed and bruised and all she could do was hold Walker off for so long before his first successful strike, and after that it was just a matter of time before the damage dragged her out of the fight.

That was what was happening now, the first strike disoriented her and she spun with the force, and continued to spin along the outside of his arm attempting to take Walker’s back. But it didn’t work, from the corner of her eye she saw his practice blade swing towards her as if he knew she would do that even though she never attempted anything like this before. Zara bent away letting the tip score a shallow line across her collar. She regained her footing in an instance and continued the attack but was interrupted by Walker’s thrust, how he could always bring his sword to bare before the eye could see baffled her still but the thought was pushed down before she could truly comprehend it as her battle mind guided her through a risky lean to the right the tip missing her by a hair. She was off balance but Zara swung her left blade at Walker, hoping the swing would make him react to protect himself and pull her out of the extended position she found herself in.

And as she swung at him letting her battle mind guide her all doubt and questions finally evaporated. She was here now and she wanted to cut him, at least once, the world changed. She knew how Walker was positioned, what he could do from his position, what he would usually do, what he was doing, and what he would do. Without real thought she acted.

She pulled the swing from a horizontal slash into a vertical block, her and Walker blades ricochet. The action gave her enough balance to pivot on her right leg and bring her longer right blade into a swing at Walkers flank.

Zara could see her blade gliding toward Walker’s ribs, she could see his last attempt at avoiding the blade and she could see the blade drawing first blood in her life.

But her vision didn’t come to pass. Somehow, with usual ease, Walker used his free palm to smack her blade off course and lean back to let it sail harmlessly by. Zara was stunned for a moment and that was all it took. Walker swung at her cutting a perfectly deep wound above her brow and the wound spilled blood blinding her and sending her to the ground.

What floored her was not the cut. It was the failure. She was so close, everything was perfect she was able to feel her success only for it to be batted aside like a droplet of water. She didn’t stand. She only stared blankly further down at the grass as blood filled her vision and she had to blink to get it out.

As she blinked and pawed at the never ending flow of blood from her new cut Walker crouched in her view. He looked deep into her eyes and asked gently

“Why do you give up?”

She stared at him for a moment and then then looked down. All her frustration and disappointment filled her words as she answered

“It’s pointless.” She started, “I am a failure. Weeks of training and I can’t cut you once. Every time I think I’m getting close I just realise how far back I am.” She slumped further into herself. ”Just now. I could see what you would do. I knew it in my bones. I knew what options you had and I could see what I had to do to cut you. But it was just a vision. I could do nothing. I am useless, worthless…”

She continued voice falling in volume until only mumbling escaped her. Every statement He ever sad to her, every jab at her common blood, at her womanhood, at her weakness. It all seemed so valid in this moment. What was I thinking, I am just a village girl with pretty hair. I never should have left the castle…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

“Close your eyes.” Walker said. “I will stop your bleeding.”

Zara looked at him. He ignored her rant and was pulling out a meaty leaf out of his pouch of herbs. Zara was stunned speechless. Not by his kindness for she knew he never helped, he only did something to achieve a goal, if it helped or hurt someone was irrelevant, but the blatant lack of pity in his voice shocked her.

In all honestly the castle wasn’t a completely cold place. It was horrible but every now and then a maid would find her after He had his way with her and would offer some measure of comfort or help, but pity was always their motivation. Walker was helping her purely out of practicality. It was new, and it felt more honest. It was truly surprising.

Zara was shocked enough to only follow instructions so she closed her eyes.

“Imagine your enemy.” He said.

Zara took a moment to find the meaning of his words, but found the image of the statue she carved as the first part of her training. It was only recently Walker said she was done with that leg of her training, yet it felt like ages. She nodded when a surprisingly clear image of her Wooden self entered her mind’s eye.

“Fight it in your mind” he said as he pressed, what Zara assumed to be the leaf, to her bleeding forehead.

She imagined her Opponent drawing her blades and in a clumsy hesitant swing try and strike her. In her mind Zara bent around the attacking blade and in a fluid motion took the head of her Opponent from her shoulders.

The vision shook her out of her concentration. All that was left was confusion.

“What was that?” Zara asked.

“That was how far you’ve come.” Walker said slowly removing the plant from her cut, leaving it scabbed. “The wound is closed but it will take as long to heal as any other.”

He stood and continued

“Your training is over.” He said “I have thought you all I can the rest is up to you.” He finished. “When you come to the camp I’ll give you your swords.”

With that he marched towards their camp leaving Zara in a stunned silence.

She didn’t know how long it took her to get to camp. But when she did she found Walker sitting cross-legged next to the fire pit. In his lap were two swords one a short sword she put at about the length of her arm, and another blade no longer than her forearm.

Walker paid her no mind as she set opposite him on the other side of the unlit fire-pit.

He handed her the swords without a word and when she accepted them he said.

“I have fulfilled my part of our trade. Now it’s time for you to do the same.” He stated, “As we agreed I will now follow your path so that I might learn.” He finished.