[2] WEEPING MONK║you're not what I was looking for

59| To Protect A Heart - 𝐈𝐈

In the aftermath of human's being exiled from the forest, Ari and Lancelot are on rocky waters, and she is left to wonder when he disappears off into the night.

Nobody seemed to question that they were sparring with each other once more. It was only fitting when training that you stand opposed to someone your equal, someone who could challenge your skill, and Hidden did these two challenge each other.

Lancelot had acquired a knife in the last weeks, discretely placed within the upper of his boot. It was nothing fancy, nothing sharp enough to do harm without force but Lancelot could kill a man with his bare hands if he wished, the blade only made it a fraction more simple if he chose.

He had not fought since the day of the ambush on their last travels, and though the wound over his hip was healing well, he still favoured a slight limp to that left side. Something which he did not notice right then. If it was to be that way for the rest of his life then he was sure to learn to adapt to it. The only other reminder that he had been injured that day was a tightness that he felt now and occasional dull throb if he twisted too fast, as he crossed swords with Ari.

Things had started off light. Lancelot's muscles were already warm from his practice with Squirrel— who sat crossed legged on the ground on top of Ari's cloak, his blunt sword across his lap as he watched on. But Ari's were not. He'd taken things slow and given her time to prepare her body, to supple her movements.

The clashes of their edged swords caught the attention of the others doing their training which seemed to then come to a stop.

Lancelot noticed that Ari was not as strong with her attacks as she once was, and she was slower, too. But she blocked and parried him as she should and the two found themselves transversing in a circle around one another just for a break.

"You should stop before you hurt yourself, Lance, at your age," Ari teased, sword in hand and by her side.

An irritation grew in the way Lancelot narrowed his eyes at her. "I am not old," he contended and failed at keeping his voice light, the softness wearing away.

They'd had this conversation before, the first time that they had sparred for practice. She'd not long recovered from her near-death that time either and had fallen into his chest. What he wouldn't give for that moment again.

Ari lifted her sword to point the tip up at him, smirking. "Is that a grey hair I see?"

She toyed with him and Lancelot couldn't resist throwing a playful jab in return. "You cannot talk."

She laughed but Lancelot did not. He felt false. Like everything he were doing here right now was a lie — pretending that there was nothing wrong.

Squirrel snickered too from the edge of their circle. "Stop talking!" He bellowed, and they did.