26
“How long did it take you to learn to fight?” I asked, shaking my wrist out, trying to get feeling back into my fingers after Cati’s latest blow.
“Does it matter?” Cati tossed her wooden blade from one hand to the other.
“Yes. If you’ve only been training for a while, then I’m a hopeless slitch who will never get any of this right. If you’ve been fighting for a long time, then I should resign myself to years of bruises and pain while I try and learn how to not get stabbed.”
Cati’s laugh rang out over the clanging of the swords next to us.
“And when will I get to use bigger weapons?” I pointed to the blades glinting in the light.
The ginger boy dove under his opponent’s sword, leaping back to his feet with a wide grin on his freckled face.
“You won’t. I’m teaching you to defend yo
