Home
you breathe just to know you’re alive; mallos
IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on September 1, 2012 at 01:47:00 AM by tristan & celidon



Celidon lay in the stable doorway, his head resting on his front paws on the cobbled floor of the training yard, his large green muzzle bathed in a soft golden glow of sunlight, whilst his hind quarters were shrouded in the shadow of the stables beyond. His green eyes were open, fixed upon the moving form of his fairy, but otherwise the familiar was completely still. Tristan released a grunt of effort as he dealt the manikin before him a particularly hard blow, causing the straw man to wobble precariously on his stand, which was weighted down with sandbags. Training in full armour was a relatively new part of Tristan’s training, he had started off wearing a few pieces, and then every few days another plate had been added. The aim was to build strength and stamina. The Prince continued his relentless assault of the dummy, pieces of wood and straw flying off it in all directions. The sword too was heavier than his usual blade, extra weight had been added in order to make it harder to life, and Tristan could feel his arm muscles beginning to burn. Inside his helmet, sweat trickled down his face and off the end of his nose, his brown hair clinging to his forehead.

The boy did not see his Grandfather approach, but Celidon did. The Cu Sith raised his head, his tail beginning to wag out a rhythm against the door post. Slowly, Cel climbed to his feet and stretched, before trotting across the yard (dodging a few pieces of flying debris) and curling up at Mallos’ feet. The sword’s blade caught in a chink at the point where the manikin’s arm attached. Tristan gritted his teeth pushing down and pulling back at the same time, severing through the attachment and causing the straw limb to fall onto the cobbles with a muffled thunk. It was in the pause, as he raised his sword again to resume his strikes, that the Prince heard Mallos speaks. The deity’s words were muffled by Tristan’s helmet, making him sound rather far away. The boy’s hand moved to his visor, lifting it upwards to reveal his face, glistening with damp. He managed a smile. He pulled the helmet free of his head entirely, before quickly snatching off the felt cap that protected his head from the rivets in the metal, stuffing it unceremoniously into the small gap between his body and his breast plate. Clinking audibly, he crossed the yard in order to lean against the fence.

“What is it with everyone and girls at the moment?” he demanded curiously, running his hand through his hair in order to push it back away from his face. It was reluctant to oblige, the damp strands clinging to the smooth skin of his forehead. “They seem to be a lot of trouble.” The only girl Tristan had met (excluding adults, of course) who had not been annoying and had not landed him in some kind of trouble, was Bryar. She had been fun, and acted more like a boy. The prince dreaded to think what his father would have said if he had seen them both jumping from the cliffs in the cove. “Father says I’m still a little small for longer swords anyway,” Tristan pressed on with a shrug, the metal plates on his shoulders rubbing past one another, “did you come here to see him? I think he’s in the main hall.”


image by wackybadger at flickr.com






Replies:

Post a reply:
Name:
Email:
Subject:
Message:
Link Name:
Link URL:
Image URL:
Password To Edit Post:
Check this box if you want to be notified via email when someone replies to your post.







Create Your Own Free Message Board or Free Forum!
Hosted By Boards2Go Copyright © 2020


<-- -->