Chapter 39 — Breaking the Pattern
1157 Words
The forest clearing held its breath.
Linda and Stanton stood ten paces apart.
Morning light spilled through the branches, turning the mist above the ground silver. Dew clung to the grass and the wooden training weapons scattered around the clearing.
Neither of them moved.
But the tension between them had already tightened like a drawn bow.
Linda bent and picked up two wooden swords from the ground. She tossed one toward Stanton.
He caught it easily without looking down.
The blade spun once in his hand before settling into a relaxed grip.
“You’re injured,” he said calmly.
“That’s your problem,” she replied.
“No.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“That’s yours.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Fight.”
For a moment he studied her stance.
Then he stepped forward.
No warning.
No ceremony.
Linda attacked first.
The wooden blade cut through the air in a sharp arc toward his shoulder.
Stanton shifted half a step to the side.
The strike met nothing but air.
Before Linda could adjust—
Tap.
His blade touched her shoulder lightly.
She froze.
“That was your heart,” he said.
He stepped back.
The touch had been so quick she had barely seen the movement.
Linda’s eyes flashed.
“Again.”
She came in faster this time.
Two quick strikes.
Left.
Right.
Stanton parried both effortlessly.
His movements were small.
Efficient.
Almost lazy.
Linda pivoted and thrust forward.
He stepped inside her reach—
Tap.
The wooden blade pressed lightly against her stomach.
She felt the point through the fabric of her shirt.
“You’re dead again.”
He withdrew the blade.
Her breathing sharpened.
“That wasn’t a kill.”
“Yes it was.”
“You barely touched me.”
“You barely saw it.”
The words struck deeper than the blade had.
Linda attacked again.
Harder.
This time she pushed speed into the fight.
Her blade slashed low toward his leg.
He stepped over the strike.
She spun immediately and aimed for his neck—
Tap.
The wood rested against the side of her throat.
He withdrew again.
“That’s three.”
Silence filled the clearing.
Linda stood still.
Her chest rose and fell slowly.
Three strikes.
Shoulder.
Stomach.
Throat.
Three deaths.
Stanton lowered his blade.
“I told you.”
The calm certainty in his voice ignited something inside her.
Rage.
Linda lunged forward without warning.
Her blade came down hard.
He blocked it easily.
She struck again.
And again.
The rhythm of the fight changed instantly.
Her attacks became faster.
Harder.
Less controlled.
Stanton’s expression shifted slightly.
“Linda.”
She didn’t stop.
The blade cut through the air wildly now.
Her movements lost the clean discipline of earlier drills.
She pushed forward recklessly.
He stepped back to keep distance.
“You’re angry.”
No response.
She swung again.
The strike missed his head by inches.
“Your strikes are blind now.”
Her answer was another attack.
“Strategically stupid,” he added calmly.
That made it worse.
Linda roared in frustration and came at him again.
The wooden swords clashed sharply.
Her breathing grew ragged.
The pain in her leg flared hotter with every step.
She ignored it.
Another strike.
Another.
Another.
Stanton blocked them all.
Not easily.
But efficiently.
He did not counterattack.
He only redirected.
Avoided.
Moved.
“Stop.”
She didn’t.
“Your leg.”
She didn’t listen.
The pain now shot up her thigh every time she pivoted.
Her movements grew sloppy.
The rage inside her drowned out everything else.
“You’re fighting your own anger now,” he said.
She slashed toward his ribs.
He stepped away again.
“That’s exactly how you die.”
Her answer was a reckless charge.
The ground shifted under her injured leg.
For half a second—
Her balance faltered.
That was all Stanton needed.
He moved forward instantly.
One hand grabbed her wrist.
The other locked around her shoulders.
Before she could react he pulled her firmly against him.
Her body slammed into his chest.
Her head ended up pressed against his shoulder.
His arms wrapped around her tightly enough to pin her movement.
Linda froze for a fraction of a second.
Then exploded.
She swung the wooden sword backward.
It struck his back hard.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The blows landed with dull thuds.
He didn’t stop her.
She hit him again.
And again.
Her breathing turned ragged.
Her entire body shook with frustration.
“You said fight!”
Another strike.
“You said prove it!”
Another blow landed across his shoulder.
He didn’t tighten his hold.
Didn’t restrain her more than necessary.
Just held her there.
Letting the storm burn out.
The wooden sword hit his back again.
Hard.
Then weaker.
Then slower.
Her breathing began to break.
Her strikes lost strength.
Eventually—
The blade slipped from her hand.
It fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Linda sagged slightly against him.
For a moment neither of them moved.
The clearing returned to silence.
Only her breathing filled the space between them.
Slowly.
Stanton loosened his grip.
But he didn’t step away immediately.
He waited.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“If you want to take all that anger out on me…”
He paused.
“…I don’t mind.”
Linda didn’t answer.
Her forehead still rested against his shoulder.
“But don’t bury it inside,” he continued.
“That’s how hunters die.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“The first untrained wolves who attack you…”
He released her arms fully now.
“…will win.”
Linda stepped away slowly.
Her leg throbbed violently now.
She didn’t look at him.
Stanton bent down and picked up his wooden sword.
He studied her for a moment.
Then placed the weapon back on the ground.
“You’re strong,” he said.
“You’re fast.”
“And you have the instincts of a real hunter.”
He turned toward the forest.
“But right now your anger is stronger than your discipline.”
Linda stood silent.
He took a few steps toward the trees.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
She finally looked up.
“If you want to survive outside a pack…”
His eyes met hers one last time.
“…you need to stop fighting like someone is coming to save you.”
The words hung in the air.
Then he turned.
And walked into the forest.
The trees swallowed him quickly.
Linda remained alone in the clearing.
The morning sun had fully risen now.
Her leg burned.
Her hands still trembled.
And the wooden swords lay scattered across the grass like reminders of every mistake she had made.
For a long time she didn’t move.
But inside her mind—
Something had shifted.
And for the first time since she lost the pack—
She began to understand what surviving alone truly meant.
- Writer
