//------------------------------// // 2-1 The Young Stray // Story: The Sparrow in the Storm // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// It was a perfect day for training. Sparrow woke up, yawned once, and stretched her forelegs before crawling out from under her lean-to, thankful that the storm had passed them by the night before. Instead, the sun was shining, golden and warm, and the birds seemed to twitter to each other in excited anticipation of what they were about to witness. Breakfast was quick and simple, something light to get some energy in her body without being heavy to slow her down or make her sick while exerting herself. After that it was time for stretches, and then her magic made short work of the armor she strapped to her body. Though it was only a few pieces, Sparrow had painstakingly polished them all the night before, ready to shine like the sun itself when she sparred with her mentor. She could already envision the steps she would take, the moves she would make on confident hoofwork as she matched her pegasus opponent’s quick strikes and the triple threat of her trio of blades with careful distancing between herself and her weapon, keeping her fast opponent at bay. The feeling of triumph and elation that would overtake her when she finally, finally, beat a seasoned veteran of the Legion, aged as her bones were becoming… At least, that was how Sparrow always dreamt it would be like. In reality, the cool, damp breeze of a foggy morning on her face stirred her from an uncomfortable sleep, and the young unicorn groaned and rubbed at her eyes. She rolled over on her bedroll and gasped at the sharp stab of pain in her back, one of her myriad collection of bumps, bruises, and cuts that Typhoon had inflicted on her over the past week. Normally she was used to sleeping on the hard ground, or whatever little bedding and cushioning she could scrape together in whatever town she decided to stay at for the season, but the injuries from her training coupled with a lumpy bedroll left her feeling like she was sixty-one, not sixteen. And it didn’t seem like there would be any end in sight; every day, after their instruction on form and technique was finished, Typhoon would ask Sparrow if she wanted to challenge her and test what she learned. And Sparrow, proud and determined to prove herself as she was, always accepted. She was very quickly learning when to keep her mouth shut when it came to the old legionary. Once she had groaned and winced away the edge of the pain, Sparrow carefully sat upright, hunched under the canvas edge of her lean-to as her eyes wandered over her surroundings. As usual, Typhoon’s bedroll was already wrapped up and stashed next to a tree, the aging mare having awoken two or three hours before Sparrow and flown ahead to scout the surrounding landscape before returning for breakfast. Sparrow blew an errant strand of her mane out of her face and forced herself to stand up, her magic dumping a messy pile of sticks in the bowl of dirt in the ground Typhoon had made her dig out for their firepit, then snatched the tinderbox Typhoon had bought for her before they left Boiling Springs to start the fire. It slowly grew in strength on the leaves and the dried moss Sparrow had collected over the course of their journey, and while it did so, the young unicorn went and found a quiet spot in the nearby tree line to take care of her morning business. She had barely returned to camp when a fluttering of feathers heralded Typhoon’s return, and the old soldier eyed the fire as it guttered and struggled to climb the sticks and bits of bark Sparrow had left for it. “Cold, damp mornings like this, it needs a bit of help,” she scolded, and she sat back on her haunches and took a drink of water from her waterskin, her coat already shiny with a sheen of sweat from her morning flight. Sparrow frowned and sat down across from her. “That little tinderbox isn’t anything compared to pegasus magic,” she grumbled, watching the feeble flame cling to a knobby twig as it struggled to peel away the bark. But when Typhoon didn’t move, her ruby red eyes only watching her patiently, Sparrow groaned. “What?” “I’m not going to finish your job for you,” Typhoon said. “It’s your job to get the fire started and get something warm going for breakfast while I’m scouting the path ahead.” “But you have magic!” Sparrow exclaimed. “Just set it all ablaze with your freaky pegasus magic!” Typhoon scoffed, a little noise from the older mare that sharpened Sparrow’s agitated frown. “If you need me to start a fire for you, then how can I ever expect you to fight without me to protect you?” She took another sip from her waterskin, corked it, and casually tossed it aside. “Fix it. If the fire goes out, we eat cold gruel today.” Sparrow bared her teeth, if only for a moment, and scooted closer to the smoldering pile of wood. “Fine…” she hissed, and then leaning down until her muzzle was practically in the kindling, she began to gently blow on the flame. Little by little, bit by bit, the flame grew in strength as Sparrow fed it oxygen, and only when Sparrow finally heard a steady crackle of the heat boiling whatever sap remained in the twigs did she feel confident to add larger pieces of fuel to the fire. When it was done, the young mare sat back and raised an eyebrow at Typhoon. “Better?” “It’s a fire,” Typhoon plainly stated. “Don’t expect me to compliment you for doing what I asked after prodding.” “Yeah, sure, whatever…” Sparrow muttered, and her magic pulled over two tins from the bag of supplies she carried, put some oatmeal in each, and then held them over the flames with her magic to heat them up. While she held the minimal concentration needed to keep them hovering there, she looked back at her sword resting next to her bedroll. “So what are we gonna cover today?” “Your hoofwork,” Typhoon told her. “We’ve been going over my hoofwork for three days!” Sparrow cried in exasperation. “Your hoofwork has been bad for three days.” Sparrow huffed, and the tins in her telekinetic grip trembled slightly as some of her emotion bubbled off her horn. “Fine. What’s bad about my hoofwork? All you ever tell me is that it’s wrong.” “Many things,” Typhoon said, and she stood up, calmly spreading her legs into her battle stance to illustrate her point. “When you’re in a fight, you should be resting with your weight on the edges of your hooves, ready to move them at a moment’s notice.” At that, she moved through a quick flurry of steps, her hooves barely skimming above the ground and sometimes kicking up a small shower of dirt and pebbles as she stepped, pivoted, twisted, returned, all with speed and agility that seemed unnatural for a mare her age. Then she stood upright and stomped her hooves into the ground, and added a slight lean to her frame. “This is how you stand. You plant your hooves in the ground when your focus goes to your sword. Your legs are too close together, and you can’t move them without tripping yourself up.” To quickly demonstrate, she tried to repeat her actions, but each time her range of motion was limited as her legs fought for standing space, and she fluttered her wings to keep her balance when she tried to pivot and her left foreleg momentarily stuck between her hind legs as she took her step back. Then she sat back down. “I understand it’s a unicorn instinct to want stability when using your magic. I can’t really imagine what it’s like to cast using a horn, and your magic is more deliberate and calculated than mine. But you’re not a wizard, and you don’t have the benefit of being able to hurl spells from safety. If you’re going to be a soldier, you’re going to be in the thick of it, and if you can’t move, then you’re dead where you stand.” Sparrow felt her shoulder blades pinching together as she weathered the sharp criticism. “I’m not a pegasus,” she weakly protested. “I’m not as nimble as you. Just because I’m a little slower than you are doesn’t mean that I’m doomed.” “I have killed you five times in our sparring sessions since we started our travels together,” Typhoon noted. “That is without my magic and without my wings. All I have is my sword in my mouth and my hooves to get around. Your magic has not stopped me from getting close to you, and your posture has not given you room to react when I do.” “I don’t see how any amount of training is going to stop me from getting destroyed by a veteran legionary,” Sparrow grumbled. Typhoon narrowed her eyes, and after a moment she stood up. “Set the oatmeal aside for now. Grab your sword.” Sparrow blinked, and though her patience with the old mare was awfully thin, she quickly did as she was told, though not without a little trepidation given their argument. Her magic fetched the sword Typhoon had bought for her from Hammer from her scant belongings and she scrambled to her hooves, quickly cantering along by Typhoon’s side as the legionary sought out some flat ground to use as their practice field. When she did, she turned around and expectantly gestured to Sparrow, who held out her sword for Typhoon to reach. As she had done since they started sparring, Typhoon ran her wingtip down the sword’s edge, leaving a thin film of ice along the blade that would stop it from cutting without putting too much weight on the metal. Sparrow swallowed hard as Typhoon released it, expecting the old soldier to fetch her own hateful sword and promptly bury Sparrow in the arena with it, but the soldier only took two steps back and dropped her sword on the grass. “We’re going to work on your hoofwork a different way today,” Typhoon announced. “How?” Sparrow asked. “No matter what I do it’s never good enough for you.” “Because I’m trying to teach you how to fight like a legionary with a horn instead of just how to be a legionary.” The old mare pointed with her wing to Sparrow’s sword as the unicorn hovered it by her side. “We’ll try something different today. We’re going to spar, but I won’t use my sword. All you have to do is hit me once and you win. If I knock you off your hooves, then you lose.” “What’s the catch?” “No magic,” Typhoon said, and Sparrow felt her ears perk a little in surprise. “If using your magic is making you focus too much on your horn and not on your hooves, then we’re going to get rid of that distraction. Hold your sword in your mouth like a pegasus does. It doesn’t have to be perfect since I won’t be knocking it from your teeth with my own sword. But when your sword is in your mouth, the only way you’re going to be able to hit me is if you can keep up with me.” Sparrow opened her mouth to retort, but she stopped herself before the words could come out. Wasn’t this what she had dreamed about, in a way? Practically thrown herself at Typhoon to get? Though the mare hardly made for friendly company, she hadn’t given up yet or simply flown off without her. And here she was, offering to teach her how a pegasus fought. Not a unicorn, and not a Royal Guard, but a pegasus legionary. Sparrow brought her sword to her muzzle and turned the blade to her left, then slipped it into her mouth, feeling the tingle of her magic on her tongue fizzle away as she released it from her telekinetic grip. Her tongue pushed awkwardly against the wrapped metal hilt in her mouth as she tried to get it to sit nicely, and by accident it slipped back into the gap between her incisors and molars much like a bit would, though far larger and heavier. “Ffson fee guh,” Sparrow tried to articulate around the hilt, and when Typhoon raised an eyebrow, the young unicorn frowned. “Uh on ol in in my mouf muh!” “You learn to speak around it with practice,” Typhoon said, shrugging. “We’ll worry about that later. Is the hilt set firmly in the gaps between your teeth where a bit would sit?” When Sparrow nodded rather than continue to make a fool of herself by attempting to talk around the foreign object in her mouth, Typhoon allowed her stance to widen a bit. “Good. Keep it there. You get all the grip you need between your teeth without worrying about cracking them or knocking them out. Don’t try to change sides for now like you’ve seen me do. Just keep the sword on your left and try to hit me.” Her wings flared a bit as she settled into her ready stance, and Sparrow awkwardly tried to mimic her pose. “Remember, stay light on your hooves. Keep track of where each one is and don’t get your legs tangled. I’ll keep things slow to start until you get used to the weight in your mouth, then I’ll start getting faster. If you fall over, you lose.” She paused for a moment to take a breath, and Sparrow took the opportunity to breathe in sharply through her nose and try to slow the pounding of anticipation in her heart. “Ready?” Sparrow swallowed once, shifted her grip on the sword one more time with her tongue, and nodded. Contrary to her promise, the legionary did not start slow, or at least, that’s how Sparrow felt when Typhoon lunged at her. Sparrow barely had a moment to react before she hopped backwards as Typhoon tried to drive a hoof at her fetlock, and after dancing away from Typhoon’s leg strikes, she swung her sword at the pegasus to try and drive her back and give herself some space to work with. But Typhoon, fast and nimble as she was, only slipped under the sword and then checked her shoulder against Sparrow’s sending the unicorn reeling backwards. Yet Sparrow was able to find her hooves before she fell, though she did have to use her sword for a moment to prop herself up and not tumble to the ground. The grip slid uncomfortably through her lips and against her teeth and the guard pushed against the side of her face, but she was able to plant her hooves and get back to a stable stance before Typhoon came back at her again. The old soldier only gave her a second to catch her breath before she darted into melee, trying to use her hooves and wings to trip Sparrow up and win the impromptu challenge. Sparrow stumbled and staggered, constantly feeling Typhoon’s limbs hooking her hooves out from underneath her whenever she tried to take a step, and every time she tried to settle down and anchor herself so she could take a swing at the legionary Typhoon would slide out of reach and shove her shoulder or flank to put her off balance again. But she moved and pivoted and caught herself as the legionary pushed her this way and that, and after a minute she stopped trying to put the full weight of her body behind each swing and found greater success in warding Typhoon away with little swings and twists of her neck. Her last swing swept through some of the graying hairs on Typhoon’s mane, and for a moment, she felt confident she might win after all. That confidence quickly dissolved when Typhoon rammed her shoulder into hers, then rolled across Sparrow’s back in the same motion, and stomped on her tail as she reeled from the shove. When Sparrow found her hindquarters surprisingly anchored in place as she tried to gain her balance, the only thing she could do was let out a cry and fall to the ground in a flailing mess of legs. Sparrow winced and groaned, feeling the wind knocked out of her from her hard landing, and spit her sword out of her mouth. “Ow…” she wheezed, and when she finally got some air back into her lungs, she looked up to see Typhoon standing over her with a slight arch to one of her eyebrows. “Did you really have to pull on my tail like that?” “Better than bucking you under the dock,” Typhoon said. “Which I considered before deciding that would be mean.” “Ha ha… thanks,” Sparrow said, recognizing the old soldier’s characteristic dry humor with some forced laughter. She managed to at least prop herself up with her forelegs and rolled back onto her haunches before picking her sword back up and sliding it into its simple wooden scabbard. “I almost got you once though.” A slight bob of her head was all the affirmation Typhoon gave her. “You got close. You moved better once you got used to the weight. And you didn’t just stand in one place and try to fend me off. It was what I was hoping to see.” She offered her hoof, and Sparrow gratefully took it and hauled herself back to her hooves with the soldier’s help. “So… I did okay, then?” “I still would have easily killed you if that had been an actual fight, and if I had my sword, I would have struck yours near the point and turned your nose to the sky before kicking out one of your legs… but it was adequate for now.” She gestured with her wing to the campfire, which still crackled and flickered in their camp. “Let’s get back to breakfast and then get back on the road. We’ll see if we can make it to the next town before nightfall, or at least an inn. It’s going to rain by tomorrow morning and I don’t want to be caught in it.” She fetched her sword and started making her way back to her camp, but Sparrow lingered a moment after her. The compliment Typhoon had given her may have been as backhooved and dismissive as anything the old soldier had given her so far, but it was still a compliment nonetheless. If she was improving enough that the legionary noticed it, then she was on the right track. She wasn’t just flailing hopelessly after her life’s dream—she was taking steps to realize it. With a little more pep in her step despite her aches and sores from a brutal week of suffering under a veteran legionary’s training, Sparrow cantered after Typhoon, her head held high and proud.