14 Taytra
The sweat pouring down Taytra’s face makes her skin feel raw every time she wipes the moisture away. Her arms burn as she attempts yet again to swing the wooden practice sword with any sense of ease or grace. Having missed her opponent again, she lets her arms drop and the tip of the sword sinks into the ground with a dull thud. “We aren’t done yet, Taytra,” Andrew says, spinning his sword smoothly in his hands.
“You might not be, but I am,” she huffs, dragging herself over to her canteen. ‘Just keep on pushing me. I am going to want to stop working.’ What was I thinking? Telling him that. All she wants to do is stop. She eagerly gulps down the water, drops the canteen, and turns. As she does, Andrew brings his sword down. He’s been waiting for this moment to strike. She clen
