She's surrounded.
Her initial plan was not quite like this. It was taking on one, or two of them, but four swords point at her, waiting for the first move to be made. There's always an opening, just she has to wait for the right moment for it to appear. She could always create one, giving in for just a moment, but that maybe the riskiest more she can make.
"Last chance."
Could she risk it? She might be able to take them, even if the odds are against her. She would have to move quick.
"I'll think about it."
"Too late."
The first man stabs, slower than she imagined. She gets the break she was hoping for. The opening reveals itself, and she enters the man's space at a speed he wasn't ready for. He reacts too late, swinging in desperation. Red bursts from his neck, and his hands drops. His body follows, and she already wipes her dagger clean with the back of his tunic.
The rest of the men watch, unsure of what they saw.
The leader looks up at her and points, and the other two men rush her, hoping to avenge their comrade.
Their angle creates another opportunity for her, and she dives in between them, rolling to get to her feet. She claims the dead man's sword, and as they turn, she flings her dagger at the one to the right. The dagger lodges in his head, and doesn't move until the man hits the ground.
The man to the left looks down, then flees.
She points the new short sword at the leader's face. The boiled leather he wears is tough, potentially too strong for her to penetrate. The only thing she's been able to stab through so far is flesh, and she doesn't want to push her luck. It served her will so far, but she knows luck has limits.
The thug rages.
He slaps his head with an open palm, course correcting his rage to his front. The ritual is complete, and he sees through a red lens, looking at a woman that killed two of his partners in less than thirty seconds. Nothing drives him other than revenge.
#
"Keep your guard up!"
An older man stands across from a small girl outside of a barn. Another impromptu training session, which he is wont to do, especially right after farm chores. He knows this is always the right time for this type of training. People tend not to threaten your life when you are vitalized and brisk.
"Daddy, I'm not ready, and the sword is too heavy."
"No whining. That sword is the only thing protecting you."
She struggles to hold the short sword on this hot day, and the sword her father holds is much larger, capable of far more damage.
"It's too small. It's not fair."
"Fair has nothing to do with staying alive."
"But Dad—"
He charges.
She waits until he's a step away to straighten her sword, and it she parries the first attack just in time. The surprise deflection makes the second swing come late, and she dodges it, moving around his back, tapping his leg with the flat part of the sword, signaling a tag.
She smiles, and he turns, smiling back.
He swings now with full focus, and she deflects with precision, making sure not to block any of the blows. His weight and strength would send her flying if she tries to stop any of his attacks, so she uses their momentum and guides them out of the way. She withdraws with every strike, giving herself enough distance to retreat if she has to. Only a few of the sessions ended that way, but she is not prideful to have this one end in similar fashion.
