Heroes and Wolves [book 1]

Chapter five

Layla

Bolting out of the woods and into the clearing where my shack stands. My bare shoulders and lack of weight on them make me realise that I left my bag and sword in my quick flea. I forgot all my stuff! But I'm not going back now. I'll have to get them later because of that Guardian. Although he couldn't have followed me back here. Could he?

Heading into my shack, I check myself in the shard of mirror balanced against one of the many stacks of books. I am hot, flustered and my hair is everywhere. I want it off my shoulders and out of my way so I tie it up in a ponytail with an overstretched elastic band.

Pulling the rag I have made for a makeshift door, I tuck it on a hook to hold it open and walk outside; vigilant of any sounds and wondering whether that Guardian followed me. Who am I kidding? Why would he even follow me? I'm just a girl in the woods.

Swaying my focus onto my stacked dumbbell weights, I carry out a few reps of bicep curls and then jump up to the metal bar across the doorway of my shack, which also acts as the support for my rag door and do some pull-ups. I can only do about two. I have only just added this to my training circuit which is what I do every day, seven days a week besides reading, repairing my shack, drawing, running from the orbs, growls and snarls from my lost mental state, going into the city and ticking off how many bloody days I have been here. Now I've put all those lifestyle activities together in one, it wouldn't seem like it should bore me but it does, it really does.

I walk over to the boardwalk where my swords and training equipment are kept. A punching bag hangs from a metal pole and two foam dummies stand upright. I admit they are not in the best condition and aren't what you would find in any local gym, but they do what they are supposed to do, in way of helping me to train and taming my boredom.

Even with the use of this shabby equipment and the lack of anything actually good, I absolutely love training. The only downside is that I constantly need to repair the equipment which adds to the ongoing work I already do on my shack. I reattach the arms from the dummies and tape the strings supporting the punching bag on the hook because they continue to break from being witness to the brunt of my blasting fists, legs and feet.

I need to replace the tape yet again. Grabbing some more from inside my shack, I begin to wrap it around the strings of the punching bag, bulking up the size and strength by two. As soon as it's reinforced, I hit and slam my fists and every other limb into the bag. I work up a sweat, bouncing on my feet, ready and composed for my next plan of attack. The bag sways up in the air and swirls in different directions from the onslaught upon it. My knuckles sting from the harsh impacts and the bag swings higher in the air.

A sudden movement catches my eye which takes my gaze off the bag but gravity soon takes hold and causes the punching bag to fly back down at such a speed that it hits me straight in the face and knocks me to the floor from the force of the impact.

     "Well, that wasn't very spectacular." I frown at the unknown voice and I'm about to stand up but stay because of what's before my eyes.