Erin rolled her shoulders as she watched the gentle sway of the punching bag. Rolling her neck, which got more and more sore as she fought, she reset her feet and crouched again into the small position. Concentrating on her breath was the hardest part, she needed to punch as she exhaled: both because if she took the return hit, it would be easier to catch her breath once it was knocked out and because it helped her release the tension in the muscles.
Erin was a small woman, even she knew that. As a small woman, it would always be hard to pack a punch that would hurt the numerous large men in the Outback. In the Arena, at least, she had the advantage of a blade. If she were quick and skilled, hitting more than she was hit was a given. But, in the Outback, she could deal punch after punch without tiring her opponent, and his one could level her to the ground.
Harris had instructed her to run. A lot. In fact, the Englishwoman was finding it harder and harder to finish his regiment. The weather was cold, and it chilled the bones in the leg that had now been twice shattered. Her knee was stiff, and the pain of continuing was more frequently outweighing the pleasure of finishing. Sure, the running, and stretching and breathing saw her calmer, happier, and more relaxed than she had ever been-- but to lose the ability to fight and to exist easily was something she was wary of. Sometimes.
Inhale, rear back, exhale, punch. It was becoming routine in a way that her gentile family would never have suspected. The small girl who spent her time dancing, knitting and singing was now attempting to deal the most painful blows she could to the underworld of RhyDin. It was surprising, certainly, but to Erin it felt natural. She was angry, and here was an endless supply of people just as angry, as hurt and as screwed up as she was. And they wanted her to beat on them.
That she could do.
The creak of the chain on the bag brought her back from her thoughts, and again she ducked down, popping up to deal a blow. The soft thud and gentle sway told her that it wasn't hard enough. She needed to go harder. With a sigh and the dropping of her arms, she took a moment to fall back. Perhaps Harris was right, for now running would do her best. Best to run. She planted a foot and turned, scooping up her water bottle, and the towel she had brought. One was placed around her neck and the other drank from heartily. If she could replicate the anger that caused her to floor Alyson, or attempt to toss Locke from the beams, she could be successful.
Best not to think of that. Best to run.
And so with a sigh, she sat on the floor and pushed out a leg, leaning forward to grab her toe. At least she would stretch this time. The scream of pain from when her foot hit the pavement the day before taught her that. Stretch, ice, rest, careful. There was nothing more embarrassing than an injury in training. While running. The bruises on her face, her abdomen, her knees-- those were okay. Those were badges of honor from her five win run. Those were badges of honor from her return to the Outback to prove that the laughing stock of the IFL could do something, be something. She wasn't just a warlord. She was a warrior.
Erin leaned her head forward and closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps a cup of tea before she ran. Yes, tea. Even warriors needed tea, right?
((Cross posted to RoH.))
Erin was a small woman, even she knew that. As a small woman, it would always be hard to pack a punch that would hurt the numerous large men in the Outback. In the Arena, at least, she had the advantage of a blade. If she were quick and skilled, hitting more than she was hit was a given. But, in the Outback, she could deal punch after punch without tiring her opponent, and his one could level her to the ground.
Harris had instructed her to run. A lot. In fact, the Englishwoman was finding it harder and harder to finish his regiment. The weather was cold, and it chilled the bones in the leg that had now been twice shattered. Her knee was stiff, and the pain of continuing was more frequently outweighing the pleasure of finishing. Sure, the running, and stretching and breathing saw her calmer, happier, and more relaxed than she had ever been-- but to lose the ability to fight and to exist easily was something she was wary of. Sometimes.
Inhale, rear back, exhale, punch. It was becoming routine in a way that her gentile family would never have suspected. The small girl who spent her time dancing, knitting and singing was now attempting to deal the most painful blows she could to the underworld of RhyDin. It was surprising, certainly, but to Erin it felt natural. She was angry, and here was an endless supply of people just as angry, as hurt and as screwed up as she was. And they wanted her to beat on them.
That she could do.
The creak of the chain on the bag brought her back from her thoughts, and again she ducked down, popping up to deal a blow. The soft thud and gentle sway told her that it wasn't hard enough. She needed to go harder. With a sigh and the dropping of her arms, she took a moment to fall back. Perhaps Harris was right, for now running would do her best. Best to run. She planted a foot and turned, scooping up her water bottle, and the towel she had brought. One was placed around her neck and the other drank from heartily. If she could replicate the anger that caused her to floor Alyson, or attempt to toss Locke from the beams, she could be successful.
Best not to think of that. Best to run.
And so with a sigh, she sat on the floor and pushed out a leg, leaning forward to grab her toe. At least she would stretch this time. The scream of pain from when her foot hit the pavement the day before taught her that. Stretch, ice, rest, careful. There was nothing more embarrassing than an injury in training. While running. The bruises on her face, her abdomen, her knees-- those were okay. Those were badges of honor from her five win run. Those were badges of honor from her return to the Outback to prove that the laughing stock of the IFL could do something, be something. She wasn't just a warlord. She was a warrior.
Erin leaned her head forward and closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps a cup of tea before she ran. Yes, tea. Even warriors needed tea, right?
((Cross posted to RoH.))