Evening lesson

[Arthur Hadrian]

Evening set in, the sunset melting into the glow of the war-wall. Arthur stood atop a small rocky purchase within "Eden." The masters preferred that he trained surrounded by natural elements, which had apparently been among the few warrior traditions that most of their individual cultures could agree on. Only having enough surface to stand on, Arthur's footing was challenged first by the wind, then by surpise strikes from his tutors. The shadowy form of a stave swept at Arthur's legs, causing him to leap upward, to be met with a thrust from a rapier before he would have to worry about regaining his balance. Dodging and parrying the various attacks had become almost another sense in and of itself to Arthur: combat was separate from mere sight and sound.

In the flickering of the war-wall, the gold-dipped clouds of evening caught a portion of Arthur's attention for a moment, and soon it was a full fledged thought. Remembering the peace of he felt watching the sunset. Moreso when sitting with Ves...

It was a katana's hilt that caught Arthur across the brow, sending him from the stone pillar. He tumbled, bouncing off unforgiving stone ledges until he managed to right himself and grasp one, stopping his decent. He fumbled to sheathe his sword, then scrambled unto the outcropping.

A voice without form spoke, "Were you an enemy, that would have been the blade's edge. You have died, Arthur Hadrian."

Arthur responded, attempting to ignore the splitting pain above his eye. "Forgive me, Sensei."

Out of darkness, was shaped the visage of a stern Japanese man. "My life has already ended, so I have lost nothing. It is your life you endanger with your lack of focus."

"I know, Sensei. It won't happen again."

The master arched a brow. "Unlikely. You have taken your training seriously thus far, Arthur Hadrian. Whatever takes your attention from it will not be so easily forgotten."

Arthur only nodded to the master's words, unable to come up with an adequate response. His brow was bleeding freely, and he allowed himself to think on it a moment rather than that which continuously frustrated his concentration.

"Is a woman, no?" This voice was European in its rhythm and tone, and the figure to whom it belonged appeared bearing a long thin sword and a finely trimmed mustache.

Arthur frowned unconsciously as he spoke. "I thought you said my thoughts were to remain private?"

A distinctly Scandanavian woman gripping a broad spear materialized to form a triangle with the other two masters addressing Arthur. "And they do. We only speak on that which you make so brazenly apparent."

Attempting not to sound as defensive as he did, Arthur replied, "I don't see what the problem is."

"Nor I." Spoke the Samurai. "So tell us, student. What is the trouble?"

Arthur sunk a little, considering his words before speaking. "She's....very important to me. She's a fighter too, and I know that's a big part of why I respect her. Why I like her so much. But I worry. About how dangerous it is, and about what might happen. How do you deal with it? How do just forget about all the stuff that could happen out there? How do you just stop worrying?"

The Spearmaiden answered first. "By distancing yourself from her. By choosing not to pursue this infatuation."

"But I can't do that."

"Than you choose a path of pain, and fear, and loss."

The Samurai interjected. "The price of any companion is the risk to yourself. You stand to lose as much of your heart as you choose to give them."

"But without them, you are merely a man, and a sword. This may be a path for some. Is not a path for a hero." A serious glint in the duelist's eye betrayed the weight of his statement.

The Japanese master looked hard into Arthur's eyes. "To walk our path, the hero's path, you must lend your heart to all those you choose to help. Some very little, and some very much. But all can hurt you, and some will. We can prepare your body, and your mind. The rest, you must learn along the way."

"Sounds like what folks always say about growing up." Arthur lifted himself to his feet.

"Yes.....I suppose it does."

. . .