The Twelfth Moon || ✔️

50. Swift Moon pt. 3

"I might forget if you impress me with those skills Feytan has been boasting about," he said. "But we've got no time to waste. I want to see your natural posture." He nodded his head towards me, signaling I needed to adjust my form.

I pictured the wolves I'd seen sword fighting during my training sessions with Feytan, and I tried copying the image in my head as well as I could. I spread my legs, locking my knees under my shoulders, as I bend them a little bit, allowing my body for a more natural flow of movement during the action. I pointed the sword upwards in front of me, keeping my arms bent a little.

"Good," Jerr purred. He stepped closer to me, that intense stare traveling all over my body before he lightly tapped his sword against my shoulders. "Straighten your back a bit more."

I immediately followed his order and saw content lights dance around in those pools of green.

"Your knees are bending too much," he corrected. "You're thinking about it too much, just let your legs stand naturally."

He circled me as I adjusted my posture to his feedback. "Keep your chin up," he purred over my shoulder, his breath caressing the sides of my ear.

I did as I was instructed, ignoring my heart speeding up ever so slightly, pretending his ever-nearing presence was nothing but a warm, breeze on a cold spring morning.

His hands traveled under my arm, pushing it up a little at my elbows. "Keep your arms locked. Your grip needs to be firm."

I ignored the shivers across my back, and flexed my muscles, and my arms stopped moving as much at his gentle touch. "Very good," he said, the content shining through in his voice. He made his way back to stand in front of me, and I could see his entire face covered with enjoyment.

I realized this would be nothing like training with Feytan.

"You need to look at your sword as a part of you," Jerr explained. "It needs to feel as if it's an extension of your arm, something you can't just drop on the battlefield. Something that won't swing in the way you don't want it to."

"That sounds easy enough."

"Ha," he breathed. "Alright, then. Show me what you got."

I eyed him questioningly.

"Try to disarm me," he challenged. "If it's easy enough, it shouldn't be that hard, right?"

I knew I had gravely underestimated what sword fighting entailed by the playfulness that now danced in his green eyes. But I didn't back down from a challenge. I feared Lotta would find a way to disown me as a friend if she ever found out I denied a challenge, but also an opportunity to beat up Jerr.

And so I went forth, sword in hand, two steps closer before I stopped once more before Jerr. I slowly raised my sword, holding it with both hands. Jerr stood casually, his sword in his right hand, hanging by his side.

I could go for it if I was quick enough. I needed to disarm him - so I needed to try to reach his hand. If I could tap his wrist hard enough-

Without thinking more about it, my sword slid through the air, passing between us and coming back down, my hand guiding it towards Jerr's weapon.

But it abruptly halted mid-air, a loud thump accompanying the end of my attack, and between our crossed swords, I saw Jerr raising his eyebrow as if he was saying, 'Is that all?'.

I quickly withdrew my sword, swinging it below us, trying to hit his hand from the other side.

But with his playful stare solely locked on my face, he blocked my attack effortlessly.