Clang! Clang! The first sounds I hear when I step into this memory are swords crashing against each other, the sound of steel hitting steel ringing in my ears. I am standing in some sort of training field, the space large and roomy for knights to practice combat. The ground is brown and dusty, filled with some sort of gravel. Weapon racks, sack dummies, and arrow targets are set up in an organized fashion around the field. Some are leaning against the wooden fence that outlines the perimeter of the area.
Beyond the field is a grassy expanse filled with wildflowers and bright blue cornflowers. I guess the fresh scent of flowers adds a more pleasant touch to the rough training field. It’s a nice day, with a few puffy clouds and the sun shining down. The cornflowers seem to be basking in the sun’s rays.
The crashing of swords is coming from two people engaging in combat in the center of the field. One of the combatants is Gabriel, skillfully wielding a well crafted long sword in one hand. The other is a stranger, some knight with ginger hair and green eyes. His face is red, as if he has taken in too much sun. Or maybe because Gabriel has just disarmed him, sending his short sword crashing to the dusty ground.
“Mathieu, you yield,” the instructor says in a loud, official sounding tone. He has a bushy black beard and a lot of hair on his head. He is also big and muscular, which is a bit frightening. Is he a knight or a bear?
“Y-Yes, sir,” he stammers, bowing to Gabriel. He picks up his sword and shamefully walks to sit beside his fellow knights, who have been watching the whole thing. They all sit on the ground by the fence, clad in leather practice armor. I assume that this is a basic show of skills, perhaps to judge where each knight is at in their training.
The instructor orders Gabriel to sit down as well, then calls up Séaryne and some man named Byron. She obeys without saying a word, picking up her two-handed katana and carrying it as if it weighed nothing. The metal is polished to perfection, so that I can almost see my reflection within it. Intricate little swirls decorate the dull side of the sword, giving it an elegant appearance. Her opponent is a lanky man wielding a double-edged claymore. It doesn’t even compare with Séaryne’s wonderful sword. I wonder if he can even lift it.
“He doesn’t stand a chance,” I hear a knight whisper to Gabriel. He looks at the person who spoke to him.
“Hm. Séaryne is skilled,” he agrees, staring at his fiancé with pride.
“You bet she is. She’ll have him begging for mercy in two seconds. Brave woman, she is.”
“A flower among weeds,” Gabriel states, never taking his eyes off the scene. The instructor gives them the signal and Séaryne lunges forward with her katana, slicing downward at her opponent. He manages to block in time, but he can’t hold it for long. I see his arms shaking beneath his claymore.
“Wow that was pretty poetic. It’s no wonder she’s your girl. I bet you used that on her, eh?”
Gabriel chuckles. “No, I didn’t have to.”
They watch as Séaryne knocks Byron back with a forceful shove. He stumbles on his feet, nearly falling over, but manages to regain his footing. He slices his sword upward, crashing into her katana once again. The grip on her sword remains firm, and the blade barely moves as it collides with Byron's claymore. I think I see the object of this mock fight. The goal must be to disarm your opponent.
One downward push is all it takes for her to break free. The claymore almost falls from his hands, but he steadies it in his palms. I hear a few observers shout, "Oh!" Séaryne's eyes widen, disappointed that her attempt at disarming him did not succeed. Her brow furrows in a bout of anger, and she lashes out at him.
"Come on, Séaryne, get him!" Gabriel says, cheering for her.
"Yeah! Give him what for!" the knight sitting next to Gabriel shouts.
As if on cue, she thrusts upward and knocks her opponent’s sword into the air. It twirls a few times before sticking tip-first into the earth. There is a moment of awed silence, and then about five of the knights watching start cheering. Séaryne sticks her sword into the ground and leans on it, wiping a bit of sweat from her brow.
The instructor silences them and says to her opponent, “Byron, you yield.”
Séaryne certainly is skilled. In this moment, she just proved to all these men that a woman could best someone as easily as they could. Though most of the knights did not cheer for her, and were visibly angered by her presence and performance, a few did. She earned their approval through her prowess. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from her. Gabriel was right. She is a flower among weeds.
--------------------------------------
A/N: Theme #23, 'cornflower'. Not to be confused with corn the vegetable. Upon doing some research, I learn that a cornflower is a pretty little blue flower. Nice.
YOU ARE READING
Every Little Memory
ParanormalImagine being given the gift of sight; the ability to peer into the world beyond, where the souls of the dead walk. Lingering in the very place you live, roaming amongst the streets of your hometown...Shades of a time long past and only you can see...
