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Published by Stroker Chase at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Stroker Chase

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They studied the fighters, two young girls, dashing with their wooden swords. The old man and woman looked like a couple enjoying a relaxing morning on a bench, but what they were doing was much more important. They watched as the oldest Sworn Sword, Rinoa, only eighteen, parried.

“Do you think she’ll be ready?”

The old woman studied her form. Rinoa brushed by a sword strike, spinning around to the back of her attacker.

“Does it matter? She has to go either way.”

Rinoa struck at her partner, successfully landing a point. She threw the wood, huffing out of the circle after he win. The two masters watched as Rinoa headed away nonchalantly.

“Where does she go after every session?”

The woman smirked, knowing exactly where she was going.

“She’s going to the spring.”

“After every session she bathes? A little peculiar don’t you think?”

“She’s not going to bathe, you dolt. The fighting excites her.”

The man scratched his chin, gazing at Rinoa, just a dot in the distance. His eyes lowered, unable to comprehend how he could miss something like that.

“Excited…I see…”

“She’s strange, that one.”


Rinoa scanned the trees, seeing if anyone had followed her. This was a ritual that she always did before heading into the spring. Already she knew no one followed, but she liked to be sure. She couldn’t let anyone see what she was going to do.

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