Gwalchmei (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hawkofmay) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_crossings2017-04-30 08:48 pm
hawkofmay) wrote in nexus_crossings2017-04-30 08:48 pm
(no subject)
The monastery by the cliffs has been abandoned for decades, crumbling away in an austere and usually silent location. Its newest and sole occupant seems to be trying to chase away the eerie atmosphere single handedly, having filled the place for days with the sounds of scuffing feet, blades thudding into defenseless trees and grunts of effort.
Gwalchmei falters in the familiar sword drill at the exact moment the sun disappears below the horizon. The light has yet to fade much but he feels its loss creeping that much closer, as surely as he feels the sword in his hand or the ground beneath his feet.
Alone as he is he allows himself the weakness of stopping and lowering his sword and shield, unable to hold back the shudder that racks his frame. He can feel the tiredness burning through his limbs now, far more sharply than he could before and while a more sensible man would take that as a sign to stop and rest, this exhaustion is exactly what he has exiled himself all the way out here to beat. He has to be strong enough at all times of day if he is to lead, that much has been made painfully clear to him of late.
With a cry of frustration he lifts his arms again, so much heavier than just moments before, and charges the gap between two small trees, slicing at one with blade covertly lining the edge of his shield and crossing one foot in front of the other whirls sharply to strike at the other tree. Only to find his sword tugged from his grip by some unseen force to clatter to the ground some distance away from him. In what appears to be a courtyard full of chairs. In bright mid afternoon sunlight.
"How is this possible?"
Gwalchmei falters in the familiar sword drill at the exact moment the sun disappears below the horizon. The light has yet to fade much but he feels its loss creeping that much closer, as surely as he feels the sword in his hand or the ground beneath his feet.
Alone as he is he allows himself the weakness of stopping and lowering his sword and shield, unable to hold back the shudder that racks his frame. He can feel the tiredness burning through his limbs now, far more sharply than he could before and while a more sensible man would take that as a sign to stop and rest, this exhaustion is exactly what he has exiled himself all the way out here to beat. He has to be strong enough at all times of day if he is to lead, that much has been made painfully clear to him of late.
With a cry of frustration he lifts his arms again, so much heavier than just moments before, and charges the gap between two small trees, slicing at one with blade covertly lining the edge of his shield and crossing one foot in front of the other whirls sharply to strike at the other tree. Only to find his sword tugged from his grip by some unseen force to clatter to the ground some distance away from him. In what appears to be a courtyard full of chairs. In bright mid afternoon sunlight.
"How is this possible?"