It was the first morning after everything...had concluded. The siege was over. The Tower had stood strong, yet much of the city was in ruins. There were many buildings destroyed, people broken, others dead...OOC: This is “backdated” a bit to immediately after Winds of Chaos.
And Morgan was gone.
The yards were not very full at that hour of the morning, most everyone was out working on recovery--either of themselves or of their communal home here. To Natlya, she wasn’t really sure she cared about much of anything. She had to move, and keep her thoughts busy. Guilt was a black demon that gnawed on her from every corner of existence.
She stood with her sword in a sheath at her side. It was again the single-edged blade she had chosen and now favored. She stood straight and unsheathed it. The movement was deceptively smooth now, considering her utter failure during the battle. She sheathed it, trying to resist the image of doing so in her belly. She unsheathed. The blade rang from its hard scabbard, arcing out and up before she brought it down one-handed in a mid-guard.
It was this guard that she favored. Low and high did not feel right, although the stance that the yards called The Ox Lowers His Horns was another she favored. After sheathing and unsheathing her blade almost a dozen times, she flowed between these two guards. She saw Seanchan and dirty mercenaries before her, and she glared at the empty space of the early morning like they were really there.
Back and forth, she did this until it felt natural to do so. The anger and persistent inward nagging were real enough and drove her forward.
Mid, high. Mid, high. Sheath. Unseath. High, mid. High, mid. She repeated this sequence another dozen times.
By now, a few had begun to filter into the yards. She didn’t pay them much attention other than to know that they were there. She knew that soon, she would move to other tasks. There was still work to be done and the Ji’val, like everyone else, would be a part of it. She would go, and she would help, and she would rebuild. But in the time allowed her, when most assumed she’d be sleeping, this was what she chose to do.
She had to be sure that what happened before would never happen again.
If she could not fight, she was useless to everyone here. And she would not be useless.
She returned to her mid-guard as the sun began to warm her skin, the morning fog dissipating slowly.
From there, she held the hilt with both hands and swung left, right, left, right. She moved her unarmed class training into her feet, moving forward a step with each swing as though driving her invisible opponents back beneath her onslaught. Then she reversed. She was under attack. Memories just days-old flooded her mind and a pit opened in her stomach as she lifted her hands with the blade horizontal to block the imaginary sword that was about to split her open from top to bottom.
Then back, back, back--each step coupled with a reverse of her earlier movements, again blocking and parrying. Keeping that pretend sharp edge from reaching her, yet imagining that it was doing so.
She stopped and moved back to guard. Her heart thumped in her chest, her physical efforts combining with her emotional reaction to her self-created images. This time, she positioned herself into the higher, ‘Ox’ guard. It felt much like when she had blocked her invisible opponent’s chop to the head, just a little twisted.
Thrust to the face. She imagined her blade being knocked aside. The invisible mercenary took advantage of her twisted body, coming at her. Nat could picture it almost perfectly. She thought fast, twisting her hands enough to bring the blade forward again as she pivoted back and sliced at him. Had she been too slow? Did he kill her, or was her maneuver effective? Her imagination could easily take her in both directions.
With her chest heaving, she lowered her sword and looked around. Even with the new additions, it was still mostly empty. She was glad for this, because she didn’t want anyone to see the tears gathering on her cheeks. She closed her eyes, willing the beating of her heart to slow. Her blood still pounded in her ears, like it had that day. She hated feeling this bloody much, but she couldn’t help it.
The sun continued to warm, and she heard a bell ringing. What people there were mostly started leaving to tend to other tasks, much like she knew she had to do. With a deep sigh, she wiped her forehead with her forearm and now the cool morning air made her skin prickle under its sweat. It was time to move out and start helping to rebuild something, other than herself.
