Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Mister Wolf and the little warrior 5.2

"I've brought you something," he said, pulling back to look at her. As expected, Elowen's eyes went bright with childish enthusiasm, all earlier melancholy wiped.

"You did? What is it? Can I see?" She scrambled to her feet and bounced, unable to contain herself.

Callan smiled indulgently and stood, dusting off his trousers. With a flourish, he pulled out a scabbard-covered sword. Bending at the waist slightly, he presented it to Elowen with due solemnity. "This is for you, Little Warrior."

When thinking of what sword to gift Elowen, Callan might have gone overboard.

He'd been tempted to dig out the family heirlooms, beautifully carved swords made for the Aerons over the centuries. Golden hilts, magical runes carved into the blades, charmed to never dull, enhanced to make its user a fearsome warrior. Swords just as famous as their ruthless swordsmen. Metallic works of art.

And then... he'd promptly remembered his daughter was seven, barely learning how to wield a sword, and probably weighed less that the weapons in question.

That had put a damper on his enthusiasm rather quickly.

He'd then decided that it was better to choose something more suited for her size and experience. There would be time to gift her more fearsome weapons once she grew and mastered the art. For now, she needed something suited for her age. She might have been small, but she deserved something far nicer than a stolen wooden sword. No, his little warrior deserved a true weapon.

Elowen's eyes gleamed in awe as she stared at the sword in Callan's outstretched palms. She lifted a hand and hovered over it, as if afraid it would vanish if she touched it.

"Is this...?"

"It's for you," Callan agreed, holding back a smile as she gasped, eyes going even brighter. "Every true warrior needs one, don't you think?"

He nudged the sword further, encouraging her to grab it. Elowen let out a marvelled breath as she ran a curious finger over the elaborate designs etched over the soft leather scabbard.

Hesitating only slightly, she unsheathed the sword and tested out the weight. A large smile stretched over her cheeks as she twirled it experimentally. "It feels different."

"Indeed," Callan hummed, crossing his arms and leaning against a tree to observe, a proud grin on his face. "You ought to get used to the weight of a real sword. A wooden replica will never have the same feeling to it."

A rapier with a simple basket hilt, just slightly smaller than normal. The edges had been blunted to prevent real damage, perfect for beginners. It was nothing too elaborate, but it was a sturdy, reliable weapon made of the finest craftsmanship in Faerie. It was just like the one he'd used when he first began training, and it would suit her handsomely until she matured into finer weapons.

"A proper sword is a big responsability," he said sternly. "As any true warrior, you should only ever use it with those who know how to spar as well."

"Of course," Elowen nodded gravely, shoulders straight, chin held a bit higher. "I'm grown enough to have a real sword. I'll take good care of it!"

Callan bit back a smile and continued, "I know you are, that's why I gave it to you. But," he held up a hand when Elowen began to bounce excitedly. "Before we get carried away, safety is of the utmost importance."

He brought forward the other part of his gift. A tiny pair of soft leather gloves and a fencing mask. Once, he'd thought them unnecessary. Scrapes and cuts were par for the course when learning how to duel. Now, however, just the thought of Elowen sustaining even a knee scrape made him anxious. He would have given her an entire padded armour if he'd had it his way.