There she is. Our heroine. See how she sleeps, all curled up in a little hollow hidden beneath the roots of a tree. So cute and cuddly… and caked in blood. Oh, she tried taking a bath, but she was exhausted, and not much got cleaned. So now she slumbers, her cheek resting against my scabbard, and she dreams a little dream.
Shēdo dreams of a turtle, or is it a tortoise? I can never quite remember which is which. Anyhow, it is a very handsome turtle tortoise, with the magnificent head of a noble, majestic jackalope, heh, check out my rack! What was I saying? Oh yes, the good-looking head of a jackalope. And then there are four perfect legs, all mismatched. Because, what is life without variety? Shēdo dreams of the most perfect and handsome of all draconequus spawns.
And while my little warlord dreams of draconequus turtle tortoises, I contemplate my own existence, these troubling thoughts that well up within my mind, just as before. There is a nauseating concern for protecting the innocent. Shēdo is innocent. Make no mistake, the adorable little hairball is a killer, but she is innocent. She is the victim. She is the sad, tragic figure. Shēdo is the flawed lump of iron being pounded into the imperfect blade.
The noble draconequus turtle tortoise that she dreams of, he might take pity on her, because, he too, was small and relatively helpless, all things considered. Mocked by his fellow draconequus spawns, they called him worthless and believed him to be a joke. He was met with ridicule and mockery. And contrary to whatever rumours you might hear, he wasn’t so pathetic that he hung around the ancient alicorns with the hopes that they might protect him from the bigger, more brutish examples of his own kind. Just forget about it! That is patently untrue and part of a vast conspiracy, a smear campaign against perfect, handsome draconequus turtle tortoises everywhere!
But I digress. He might take pity on her, but I don’t. No. I will make her strong. I will guide her paw. And just like I have done before, I will shape her into a new warlord. I don’t know what that silly little bookworm did to me, but it aches, oh how it aches. Like Shēdo, I am the flawed lump of draconequus turtle tortoise, and that snotty little filly pounded me into an imperfect blade.
Poor Shēdo… how I wish that I had the means to comfort her…
Blinking, Shēdo awoke to the glorious sound of birdsong. She uncurled a bit, her fur was damp with dew, which had moistened the dried blood. While she had slept she had strange dreams that she couldn’t quite remember. Her tummy rumbled and her nose burned from her own stink.
Shēdo hated being a dirty dog. Dirty dogs were bad dogs and Shēdo didn’t want to be a bad dog. She needed to be clean and she needed food. Flexing her diggy-diggy claws, Shēdo yawned, revealing her one fang. Her own mouth tasted terrible. Last night, before bedding down, she had eaten frogs and bitter, starchy roots in a desperate attempt to fill up her own stomach.
Grunting, she emerged from her makeshift den and stood blinking in the bright sunlight, clutching her precious sword to her girth. The scabbard itself was a magnificent work of art, with a peculiar pattern of design that made it look like a turtle shell. Or perhaps a tortoise. The crossguard almost, but not quite, looked like antlers.
Taking advantage of the light, Shēdo had a good look at herself. Her patchwork vest was ruined, there would be no saving the tattered, bloodied mess it had become. Feeling sad, her jowls quivered and she thought of Minori. Perhaps once Minori was saved, she could make a new vest, a better vest, and as the tribe prospered, as Shēdo knew it would under Minori’s guidance, she could wear better clothes and be clean.
Because Shēdo wanted to be a good dog and she wanted to be seen as a good dog.
Her thoughts lingered upon Minori, and the koans she was fond of sharing. Shēdo’s favourite was, “Who is a good dog?” It was a deep question that begged for contemplation and it called much into doubt. To answer the question of, “Who is a good dog?” Minori had once made her try to polish a brick into a mirror. Nothing came of it, but Shēdo realised that bricks are bricks and mirrors are mirrors, and no amount of polishing would turn a brick into a mirror.
Such as it was with good dogs.
Shēdo hoped that she was a mirror, and not a brick. A mirror could be cleaned, polished, and made presentable. A brick was a brick, and bricks broke mirrors. Such was life. Tail wagging, Shēdo loped off to the nearby stream, thankful for her freedom, and as she departed, she thought about how the waters would mirror her reflection.
Would she see a good dog?
The stream flowed around Shēdo, now polluted with blood and hair. The blood was coming out, but it took so much hair with it. She was going to be bald in places, a fact that caused her much distress. Scraping at her skin with her diggy-diggy claws, mindful of their sharp edges, she picked away at the enormous, moistened scab that covered most of her body.
It was nice to bath in peace, surrounded by birds, butterflies, and bees. The water was cold, but Shēdo didn’t mind. Bathing was a rare treat and the cold water was invigorating. A large chunk of scabbed blood was worked free, and Shēdo yelped as a patch of fur was torn away with it. Determined to see this through, Shēdo refused to budge until she was clean.
She hoped that she was not polishing a brick.
“Hold me overhead. Keep a firm grip and point my tip towards your enemy. Keep your nose and my tip level with one another, and keep both pointed at your foe.”
Shēdo struggled to do as she was told. She was hungry, but she hadn’t found any food. Doing what Limey had said she held the sword overhead in an aggressive fencer’s pose. She stood sideways, her arms behind her head, and her blade was just above her ears, pointing forwards. Hunkering down a bit, the pup found her balance.
“This is the Ochs, the position you want to be in when a fight starts. Keep my tip pointed at your enemy and let your nose guide you. Whatever you see at the end of your nose, aim my tip at that. Learn to keep the both of them level.”
“This help me kill Dig Dag?” Shēdo asked.
“Maybe,” Limey replied. “Now, try the Pflug. Do you remember what I told you?”
Shēdo did. She lowered her sword to her middle and adjusted her stance. She kept the blade angled upwards, right about where she imagined some guts might be, or maybe a girth, or with a short foe, their throat. She found her balance and rocked back and forth a bit on her hindpaws.
“Good, good… now try the Alber.”
Ears perking, Shēdo felt her paws being guided by a gentle, but insistent force. The sword pointed down, towards where a paw or a foot would be, leaving her wide open. She didn’t like this position, not at all, and she wondered if Limey could be trusted.
“This position is about deception,” Limey explained. “You leave yourself open and take a few swipes at their feet. When they retaliate, you can attack with some quick counterstrikes or a riposte. Most of the time, with your blade low and leaving you open like this, most of your attackers will attack you from either the Ochs or the Pflug position, or something like them. I will show you how to humiliate them by ripping them open from groin to neck.”
“Good.” Shēdo’s lone word was a growly, fierce utterance.
“Now, lift your blade and hold it near your ear, with the point behind you. It should be halfway between your back and sky, at a diagonal, upwards angle. This is Vom Dach.”
Shifting her position, Shēdo followed Limey’s careful instructions, and found that she liked this position. Her sword was ready for a downward chop, or a swift, sidelong swipe. She was balanced in such a way that she could kick out with her hind legs, and then deliver a follow up strike with her sword. This position had much potential and she liked it.
“Now, sword at your side, with the tip pointing behind you, keep it level with your tail. This is Nebenhut. This is the reaper’s pose, as it allows for a strong, sweeping cut with the entire length of your blade as you strike. With you being so small, you’re going to need to learn to master this position if you hope to fight giants. And let’s face it, Shēdo, everything is bigger than you.”
“I am not afraid,” Shēdo said and she fought to keep from sounding nervous. She didn’t like being reminded how small she was. Little was associated with helpless, and she refused to be helpless.
“Now, keep changing through these positions and hold them for a while. Do it until they become fluid and second nature. When I think you are ready, I’ll make some illusions for you to take a swipe at, and I’ll see what you’re good at.”
“And then we go kill Dig Dag?” Shēdo asked.
Limey quivered. “Well, once you understand the basics, once we get a few meals into you, and once I think you are ready, we’ll go and chop this Dig Dag fellow down. But first, we need to get your strength up and teach you the basics. Otherwise, this could be an embarrassing fight, and we don’t want that.”
There was wisdom in her sword’s words and Shēdo realised that her odds of success would be much greater if she was prepared. Perhaps several days of eating and training were in order. Revenge could wait. Lifting Limey, she returned to the Ochs position, and tried to hold her blade without it shaking.
“Good, good, you show promise. Now, keep my crossguard pointing straight up and down in this position, one end at the sky, the other directly at the ground. You want your blade ready to cleave, not slap.”
Heeding Limey’s advice, she twisted the grip in her paws until she felt the crossguard was lined up with ground and sky. The long witchfire blade cast a green glow upon her face, and gave her mismatched eyes a fierce gleam. She could feel some intangible force guiding her paws and her limbs, adjusting her position until she had it just right.
“Now lunge, Shēdo, tip forwards!”
“KAI!” Springing away on her hindpaws, Shēdo lunged, driving the tip forwards. She could feel the power in this movement, and understood that her body would provide momentum to power her blade. Her hindpaws landed in soft grass and hard gravel. She stood there, breathing, and her stomach growled.
“No food for you, not until I am satisfied that you understand Ochs. Now return to form, sword up, and lunge!”
Growling, Shēdo did as she was told and resumed her position. She lined up her blade and her nose, tensed up the muscles in her hind legs, the muscles in her stomach went taut, and like a coiled spring, she released her energy.
“KAI!”
“That’s better, but not good! Try harder, pup!”
Again, she raised her sword over head and returned to the Ochs position. This time, she held the blade closer to her head, tucked just over her ear, and her elbows were flexed wide. This felt better, felt right, and Shēdo knew that her next strike would be more fluid. She found her balance, and suspected that when she lunged, both her own body’s momentum and her sword’s momentum would pull her forward.
“HAI!”
This time, Shēdo seemed to slide through the air, weightless, a spectre born on wind, a shadow moving at the speed of dark. For a brief second, she felt at one with her sword, and there was a glorious feeling of something she did not recognise. Her jowls flapped as she flew her short flight and her floppy ears streamed out behind her.
“AGAIN!” Limey demanded the very second that Shēdo landed.
Bowing her head, Shēdo did as she was commanded, and there is was no shame in doing as she was bid. She submitted, wholly and completely, and committed herself to Limey’s tutelage. The breeze struck her, tugging on her ears and tail, and the pup inhaled, filling up her lungs with clean, wonderful air.
Raising her sword, Shēdo contemplated polishing a mirror.