Ursik #3
"You three look like gossiping hens," she says, her eyes flicking to me. "You getting into trouble?" She doesn't seem particularly worried. Just checking, the way you check on a large animal that's been quiet for too long.
"No," I say.
Falla doesn't even look up from re-racking the short staff. "He's going to pester the human women to win them over."
Kerra stares at me. "That's a horrible idea."
"Nobody asked you."
"Specifically the one that hates him," Kai adds, which is genuinely unnecessary.
"She doesn't hate me. She's —" I stop, because explaining she's grading me and I'm not sure what the criteria are but I find them interesting will not play well with this audience. "She's cautious."
"She tried to brain him with a sling stone." Kai, again. Helpfully.
Kerra turns the full weight of her attention on me. Kerra's attention has mass. She's younger than me by a few years but she does this thing where she looks at you like she's already seen how this particular decision plays out and found the ending disappointing. "Ursik."
"She stopped herself."
"Oh, well, halfway to a head wound, that's fine then. You should definitely push her."
"It's not — I'm not going to do anything. I just —" I drag a hand through my hair, which has come mostly loose from the tie by now. "I don't need input from any of you. I've been dropping the supplies, I've been good, I've been quiet —"
"You are not quiet," Kerra says. She says it without cruelty, just as a statement of observable fact. "You have never been quiet. You tried to be quiet at the Rainbow Vigil and Idra said she could hear you breathing from three positions over."
"That was cold air."
"It was you."
I point at the ring. "Get in. I'll kick your ass. That'll be something useful to do."
Kerra's eyes light up — she can't help it, it's reflexive, the same way I can't help laughing too loud. She's already pulling her outer layer off, rolling her shoulders. "You haven't beaten me in the ring since the month after your fingers."
"My fingers are fine. Falla fixed them."
"He fixed three of them with gut thread and then threatened to take them off again if you kept sparring before the tendons healed."
"And I listened."
"You listened for four days."
Kai has stepped back in the way he steps back when he wants to watch something from a comfortable distance, which is at least consistent. Falla shakes his head once with the air of a man registering a complaint with an administration he knows will ignore it.
Kerra and I move into the ring.
It's good, the way it always is with her.
She's got no wasted movement — every Kerra fight is compact and mean and she goes for the knees before she goes for anything else because she learnt early that taking out the legs on someone my size is more efficient than reaching for the face.
I know this and she still gets inside my guard every third exchange because knowing the thing and stopping the thing are different problems.
We circle. I throw a testing jab, she slips it, elbows into my ribs on the way past. I catch her arm on the turn and we're into a grapple at close quarters, both of us looking for the weight-shift that gives one of us the break.
She grunts. "You're distracted."
"I'm not."
She gets my wrist, leverages, and I have to step wide to stay upright. "You are. Your head's still at the cabins."
I reset. "Drop it."
"Teach her."
I stop. Not entirely — I keep my hands up, keep the weight balanced — but I stop moving and look at her.
Kerra has the look she gets when she's had a thought she's been building to, and has decided the fight is a good time to deploy it.
"If she wants to protect her people. If that's what she's doing — standing in front of them, taking stock of everything, working out who the threat is —" She rolls her wrist once, easy, a gesture that says you've already seen this. "Give her the tools."
I stay still with it.
Kerra drops her stance a fraction, not conceding — just pausing. "You can't make someone feel safe by proving you're harmless. She's not looking for harmless." She tips her head. "She's looking for capable. So show her capable."
I think about Aislin at the front of the group, that first morning.
Thin. Split lip, already healed yellow at the edges.
Green eyes doing inventory on every orc in the yard.
The way she'd moved — not backward, not tucking herself small — but forward, two steps forward into the gap between us and the others, like she'd made a calculation and the calculation had said put yourself here.
And the sling. Somewhere on her person, this whole week. The whole week she's been watching me come through the trees with a crate of bread and broth, she's had a river stone and a strip of leather and an entirely sincere set of shoulders.
She wants to fight for them. She's been fighting for them, with whatever she has. And what she has, she's taught herself.
The thought arrives whole, the way the good ones do. Not built up piece by piece but just — there, complete.
I want to teach her to fight properly.