~Grace~
I relentlessly swing my sword at Rafe, but he is fast enough to dodge and retreat, my blade leaving inch-deep gouges in the wall.
"Are we doing this or not? Or do you perhaps think I can't take you?" I demand.
Rafe huffs out a breath and takes the sword from my grip with a swiftness I can't follow. In a flash, my fingers curl around nothing. I look down at my empty hand with the expression of someone who has just been duped.
"You're holding it wrong. You won't even make it past the first trial like this," he says simply.
I grit my teeth at his ego. I am doing well for someone with no formal martial training—at least, better than expected for someone self-taught. He presses the hilt back into my palm and adjusts my fingers one by one.
He steps back. "Again. Raise it higher this time. It doesn't matter if your opponent is bigger."
I obey.
"Elbow," he says.
I adjust my stance.
"Strike!"
I lunge, but he catches my wrist before the blade can even get close.
"Too slow!"
