“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” Taowren grumbled as he reluctantly walked through the gates to the Okan clan’s training grounds.

“And miss Brayandli utterly thrashing you?” Tomar was, for once, full of smiles. “How can I miss this? You’re finally reaping what you sow, Taown.”

         Taowren rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore him, instead taking in the training grounds. This section of the Okan Residence was made up of a large, plain field divided into sections, with a small pavilion erected at one end and a set of stands next to it. Maple trees framed the outer areas behind high stone walls, while most of the ground was covered with a thick springy layer of grass and moss, perfect for providing a forgiving and comfortable surface to spar on. Scattered across the area were a number of smooth stones of varying sizes to provide natural obstacles and to help create a more realistic simulation of battle terrain. At one end there was an area of cleared, hard packed earth, where he could see a number of wooden training posts, worn and scarred from many years of students practising their strikes and mana manipulation.

         Taowren and Tomar came to a halt before a large rack, home to plenty of wooden practice swords, as well as slim quarterstaffs, robust staves, and something that looked like it had been a branch on a tree just that morning. A large battle axe was chained to the rack, and there was a set of hanging sheathes, each holding a small, triple-bladed dagger of a design Taowren had never seen before. Across the well organised grounds were various individuals practising together or testing their prowess alone against the wooden dummies; their ages ranged from mere tweens to men and women of middling years.

         “Good afternoon, young masters.” Beside this array of weapons stood Willow, in her long black and blue robes, and next to her was a man looking about thirty-five or so in years. His silvery hair and hazel wolf eyes marked him immediately as a member of the Okan clan and, judging from the breadth of his chest and the number of clawing scars down his face, he was likely one bonded to a wolf. Taowren thought he didn’t look much like slender Brayandli or Willow at all, apart from the obvious Gift markings, but was more like muscular Bayfolin. This man was stouter and his face had a much wider shape than Brayandli’s, and his flat, crooked nose hinted at multiple breakings. Taowren supposed he must be the weapons master for the clan.

         “Master Scout, Willow, good to see you.” Tomar bowed deeply and elegantly in greeting, Taowren copying after a beat. As his head came back up, he caught sight of a familiar beauty not far behind the scarred wolf-man.

“Hey! Brandy!” Taowren waved at the pretty boy, who nodded back before coming to stand beside Scout.

“This is Taowren, he is Tomar’s cousin.” Brayandli introduced the new face to the scarred man placidly, and then lifted a sword from the rack. “Taowren, this is my cousin, Scout. Shall we begin?”

So soon? At least let me get my bearings first! Taowren gritted his teeth and gingerly stepped towards the rack of swords.

         “Brayandli,” Tomar side-eyed Taowren as the youth awkwardly lifted one of the wooden swords, “Knowing my cousin as I do, um… The spirit of fairness requires me to inform you that his swordsmanship is…” What was the most accurate way to say it? Not great? Awful? Utter dogshit? “…Lacking in refinement. If you’re looking for a true demonstration of skill, I am afraid you will be… Disappointed.”

“Thanks, Tomar.” Taowren chimed sarcastically before stepping around Scout to face Brayandli. “Tomar’s telling the truth though. I’m genuinely terrible.”

“We will see.” Ever polite, ever stoic, Brayandli gestured over to an empty patch of grass.

         The two squared up, took an obligatory bow, and began. Brayandli was the picture of confidence and grace, his stances impeccable, feet following in peerless form. Taowren, however, was visibly less at ease. He gripped his sword with an unsteady, white-knuckled stance, feeling his entire arm shake with the first hit. Taowren’s movements were awkward and parries clumsy, whilst Brayandli was as smooth and serene as a gentle stream. A stream that could hit with the force of an elephant, apparently.

         Although Taowren’s feet knew where to go and when, it did him no good against Brayandli’s far superior onslaught. Within four strikes, Brayandli had knocked the practice weapon out of Taowren’s hands and sent Taowren crashing into the earth. The sword hit one of the nearby rocks with a loud clatter, and Taowren winced.

         From the side-lines, Tomar snickered. Brayandli, however, seemed completely un-phased—neither amused nor disgruntled—by Taowren’s swift defeat. Serenely, Brayandli bent down and lifted the sword up, offering it back to Taowren as the youth stood up.

“Slow your breathing, and try holding the sword more like this,” Brayandli politely instructed Taowren, showing him a different grip to the clumsy way he had been holding it before. “That’s much better. Shall we go again?”

         It couldn’t be said that Taowren didn’t try and make a good match, but within twenty minutes of back-to-back sparring—each round ending with Taowren’s sword either flying or Brayandli’s weapon at his throat—Taowren was sweating profusely and panting heavily. Tomorrow his arms and legs would definitely be covered in bruises from the various strikes he hadn’t managed to dodge or parry. Brayandli, in contrast, was serene as a summer’s day, all elegance and grace. Not even a single bead of sweat ran down that pale face, and his expression remained as placid as ever.

         It was only now Taowren began to understand why others seemed to find Brayandli intimidating. The tranquillity that he took to be timid was more like a mask; you couldn’t see it from the surface, but the reserved Brayandli could be very commanding and domineering indeed.

“I concede, I concede!” Taowren panted, dropping his sword in front of him. “I’m no match for you, Brandy. Mercy, I beg you. Let’s spar another day.”

         Brayandli said nothing, but took hold of both swords and returned them to the rack. He didn’t make a comment as he set them down, but he was biting his lip and glanced back at Taowren a couple of times, as if there was something he wanted to say.

“It’s fine, you can say it.” Taowren gave him a catty grin, “I know I’m awful.”

“…There is room for improvement.” Brayandli didn’t quite meet his eyes as he said this, instead glancing at Taowren’s cousin, who was currently engaged in sparring with Scout. Although Scout was obviously Brayandli’s senior, Tomar was faring far better with him than Taowren had with the Okan heir. Both men were sweating and panting as they exchanged blows, making it all the more obvious that the fault with Taowren was not the Nightingale Clan’s teachings. “I… Can give you some more pointers next time, if you like.”

         “Sure. My uncle would probably say I’d be forever in your debt if you did.” Taowren shrugged. Next time? Tomar would have to frog march Taowren here personally for there to be a next time. Although if it means I get to stare at that pretty face... “I don’t mind being terrible though, really. My talents just lie elsewhere.”

         Taowren stepped around the taller boy to walk towards a water fountain behind the row of weapon racks. Brayandli tilted his head questioningly and watched Taowren drink deeply from it. Catching the curious look, Taowren grinned up at him, and pulled out a long cord hanging around his neck from under his robes.

“Want to see a magic trick?”

“A magic trick?” Brayandli watched with apt interest as Taowren slid a small disk off of the cord and held it up before the taller boy’s face. It was smooth and made of stone, shaped like a coin with a hole in the middle.

“Just watch the coin closely.”

         Taowren rolled the coin over the backs of his fingers in one direction and then the other, before flicking it up and in the air and catching it in his palm. One hand closed over the other and then he quickly separated his hands. Brayandli silently stared at him for a beat, before Taowren raised both hands with their palms facing outward towards the willowy youth. The coin was gone.

“It has vanished?” Brayandli’s pretty face was full of confusion. However, Taowren wagged a finger at him and pointed to his own face.

         Taowren slowly opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, coin sitting in the fold of its centre. A moment passed, before Brayandli let out a very small, but musical, laugh. The sound ignited sparks in Taowren’s chest.

“I thought you meant real magic, with mana.” Brayandli hummed in amusement, watching Taowren remove the coin from his mouth and carefully wipe it on the hem of his upturned sleeve before returning it to the cord around his neck.

“No, it’s sleight of hand! Pretty impressive, right?” Taowren said, “I have other tricks as well.”

         “Where did you learn it?” Brayandli asked, “What other tricks do you know?

“From a friend of my mother’s. They were in the same troupe.” Taowren shrugged, “I know all sorts of tricks like that. I can juggle pretty well too.”

“Your troupe were performers?” Brayandli hesitated, before almost embarrassedly adding. “I’ve only met one person of Mohan heritage before—I am not too familiar with the culture.”

“Some of them, yeah!” Taowren was full of smiles, suddenly in an element he felt comfortable in. “Not all of us though—we were a mixture of artists, craftsmen and fortune tellers too." He turned to watch Tomar spar with Scout, noticing with curiosity that the latter man was holding his blade in his left hand. Not far from them, Willow was finishing up her own bout with a boy in the Tien clan’s colours; she had disarmed him with a deft twist of her own weapon and after giving him a formal bow, retrieved the boy’s wooden blade to return it to the training weapons rack. “My mother made jewellery, actually—the chain on my ankle was hers.”

“She must have been an interesting woman,” Brayandli commented delicately, his gaze dropping to the delicate chain around Taowren’s ankle. It was made of a number the stone disks like the one present on his necklace, each one seamlessly interlinked.