Fin continued drilling with Meg. Overhead attack, block, horizontal counter. Thrust to the body, parry, overhead counter. He kept the pace steady, correcting her form, making her repeat movements until they became smoother, more ingrained.
She worked relentlessly, her face set in concentration, sweat dripping freely now, her grey shirt clinging to her back. She stumbled occasionally, missed blocks, landed counters awkwardly, but she immediately reset, ready for the next repetition. Fin watched her hands, her feet, her eyes.
He called out a sequence: "Overhead, thrust, horizontal."
She moved through the blocks and counters. Her footwork got tangled on the final move, she blocked the horizontal cut late, the wooden swords smacking together hard near her guard. Her knuckles scraped against the wood. She hissed, pulling her hand back.
"You okay?" He asked, lowering his sword.
"Fine," she insisted, flexing her scraped knuckles. Red marks showed on the skin. "Just slipped. Again."
