Legends of Freedom

Practice

"Practice makes perfect," says Zovek, a tall black stallion. My Mentor. And instantly I think: Perfect Practice makes perfect. "You must drive this into your head, so it will become habit. 

"Once you make perfection your habit, once you never again fail at a technique, you won't ever have to make the conscious decision to do it right-" 

"it'll come instinctively- doing it the right way will be the way you do things on auto-pilot," he mused. 

his eyes are black, he's watching me, and I know he will catch any expression or gesture or anything I make, do, or say.

Being taller than many and most colts born my season, I ceased having to tilt my head up to look at whom was once a much taller stallion. 

"You understanding, Lucius?"   He questioned brazenly, turning from to move to the center of his training arena.

 Before he turned back around to face me, I took a deep breath in, letting energy flood through my veins. 

I let the energy overtake me, and I felt powerful. I've been molded into a powerful colt.

I've been training for this since I was only a few seasons old. I breathe out a 'yes' in response, and then make a quick lunge to his side.

I barely register his surprised expression- everything a blur as I skid to a stop beside him, mentally pulling my energy in bundles to my legs and rearing up- 

I strike him into the side of his ribs first with my left front hoof, punching out my right to the indentation between his neck and shoulder.

I hear a wheeze from him as I turn on my hind legs, leaping out of reach of  his  instant attempt at a defensive jab at me.

I heard him huff- out of breath seemingly- as he muttered "Good move, there"

I heard him mutter the praise- and praise from him was always a rare occurrence.  "And you were saying?" I tell him, over my shoulder as I stride away from him in a well-practiced graceful trot.

"All that talk about practice and perfect fighting-and you couldn't  even hold your own against me just then" I snorted in amusement, my breath a white misty cloud in the crisp autumn air around me.

 When my teasing insult was met with silence, I looked over my shoulder. What'd he do? Leave? He can't leave in the middle of my lesson! 

A heavy set of hooves thrum against the solid dirt in a steady pace from my left, and then suddenly I'm shoved onto the ground.

 My left shoulder throbbed and my vision swam slightly at the crashing impact of the hit.

"Just that.." Zovek says, his voice smug, "I was saying".

 I scramble to my feet, wasting no time before driving my head into his neck, and he groans, stumbling sideways from me. 

Huffing, he says "Maybe instead of talking so much I should be showing you what you need to learn-"

"- Wilveren knows you derserve a good beating anyhow."

I stand a few strides away from him, and he watches me.

 He pulls his head up higher, asserting dominance in his arena, "That's enough for today, go rest your shoulder," he muttered, dipping his head in his way of dismissing me, "tell your parents 'hello' for me, Lucius." 

I return the gesture, dipping my head down slightly, slowly. I lift my head up once more, and turn to leave his arena. His next apprentice was waiting a couple strides away from the entrance.

 The 'entrance' was an archway formed by two curved trees, and over the years, Zovek's family kept building up stones and mud and logs around his clearing to form a boundary of his training session. 

I glance at his next apprentice, surprised to find it to be a filly. 

No way. 

Fillies don't train to be guards on the Forest Guard army. 

I find myself even more surprised to have my gaze met by her gray eyes. They seemed to smolder and storm in the time we hold eye contact.

She looked about as reddish orange as the leaves on the trees- her mane was loose on her neck, her head held high, proudly, an air of defiance about her.

Fillies like her don't make it long, I think as I roll my eyes prematurely. 

'Son, rolling your eyes and making faces will cause your face to get stuck that way with such distasteful, disgusting intentions of action' 

I heard my mother's voice scold me in my head as-out of the corner of my eye, while I'm walking towards home- the (little) filly started to head into the arena.

Even as the distance between her an I grew, the challenging atmosphere she had around seemed to intensify.

That's at so dumb! She's a filly- why do I feel challenged? No.

 She's without any rare, unique qualities- She'll be forgotten as soon as I get home, I determined. 

Picking my pace up swiftly, trotting still in the direction of home as geese fly by overhead. I faintly hear the filly shout at something from behind me. 

And as I trot along the path of the training grounds, the sounds of nickers and groans and the  thundering of hooves created the empowering  ambiance of mentors teaching young colts how to fight. 

Empowering for me. 

These sounds, I've noticed, strike fear through most.