The Weapon

I sat at what had once been one of my favorite spots. In the court yard was the open space where I trained. I learned many skills. Close combat, rage weapons, and hand-to-hand. Though I was scaled more with someone than others. There wasn’t many weapons, or fighting styles I wasn’t always familiar with. I was taught to think on my feet. To roll with whatever was thrown at me. Merlin took a seat on the stone bench next to me still in cat form. I gazed out. I remember my first fight with my trainer. It was the first time I had felt comfortable, and competitive enough to take the form of an animal. I wasn’t certain if they knew I could do that or not. If they truly knew what I had or if perhaps you’d realize that I had been refusing to take any form, I thought they could use to their advantage. Like a bird, tiger, or bear. I had become a wolf then. A big black one like in my bedtime stories. With shaggy, fluffy fur. I had chosen it because it was hind of cute. And that ferocious sort of way I liked. Its thick had helped me not be beaten so badly. That was thing about Puck. No matter what I threw at him he never seemed surprised or off-balance. I suppose neither did I. Perhaps I got that from him. I had liked Puck at first. Though I hadn’t trusted him. His mind was a bit more guarded the most, but so was everyone’s here. It didn’t stop me from getting an impression of him. Like I did everyone I met. He was kind most of the time. He was a teacher. Even as a young child, I had surmised that that was why he had been chosen. Not because of his fighting skills which were just above average, but his experience, teaching people of all ages, especially younger children. I saw rather immediately that he loved these children. As a scared kid I found that curious. A criminal and a teacher. I couldn’t see him being both. He was always nice to me though. He could be stern, even strict, but be was never mean. I grew to like him. To look forward to his visits. His sparring sessions. His lessons in the library about tactics, and strategies. He had been in general once I had seen that. He was more the game maker than a soldier though. He never seen the front lines. After a time I had saw he had a family. A wife he had returned two after just two years of service. He also had two children and an older daughter about my age and a little boy. It’ll take me a few years to get all that. I don’t think I fully understood until later. Why he had been so guarded about it. I remember after a sparring session when I was about sixteen when he had thought about his sword. He had told the story plenty of times. How he had won it though cunning, and trickery. He had told it to the guards, drunkenly over the campfire one night with superiors, to me as a child learning to pick locks unseen. It was that day I broke though enough defenses to realize something I should have years ago. He loved me. Not like a student, or a daughter. He loved me just like he loved his prize, stolen sword. He loved me like you would your favorite weapon.