Training was a thing that died with Axeon, as far as Luka was concerned. It was a memory that belonged to him, one she refused to forget but did her best not to remember. But this was what Eldouirs did. Apparently. They trained. And fucked. And then trained and fucked some more.

Luka moved across the field, legs moving like anchors across the ground while her eyes skipped from one circle to the next. Her hair was wound up in a knot. It wasn’t the same as wearing her hat, but it was the best she could manage without looking ashamed. Grem drifted overhead, pointing out racks of weapons, some he recognized, others he didn’t. He’d already confirmed the field was mostly empty, which was what she wanted. It’d be better to have seen it, she decided, at least once for herself before there were Eldouirs watching her, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Even without Grem, it would’ve been impossible to miss the Dresmondi and her counting or the dyr with her. Rather than look their way, Luka strode past, picking up the pace as she walked. She hadn’t so much as made eye contact with another Dresmondi since Tribute, and—as far as she was concerned—she was content to keep it that way for as long as possible.

'oh shit fuck man,' Yule broke Eirwen's count which earned him a nasty look, the dumb rooster was always sporadic flapping his black wings and pecking the ground but something had caught his attention, 'its that chick, the ginger one,' this had Eirwen snapping her head black hair whipping with her to find the woman, heart beat and adrenaline suddenly rising, 'leave her be Eir! She's one of them dude,' Eirwen wasn't hearing anything Yule pleaded with.

She saw how the girl was quicking her pace which made Eirwen trot quicker after Luka, "Oi!" and out of jealousy if the woman turned or didn't Eirwen would snatch her back by her shoulder and aiming to deliver a straight punch to her nose...

Walking away had never gotten her anywhere. She wasn’t a coward. Never had been. Not when the Rashai buried her so deep in the Sand, she had to claw her way out. Not when they shoved her and she shoved back. Not when the teased her or judged her or hated her.

And not now.

Luka turned, bringing Grem around overhead with a beleaguered sigh before his eyes widened and Luka bobbed. She’d caught the fist out of the corner of her eye and veered but not fast enough. Eirwen’s punch missed her nose but caught her chin, and the blow sent her reeling, feet staggering backward before her heels planted against the dirt and she charged. It took seconds. The searing pain that made her eyes water and vision go red while her pulse raced and she shot forward, head down with every intent of catching the Dresmondi bitch around the middle and tackling her to the ground. A haggard scream peeled from her throat as she charged, a pent-up, fraying anger desperate to be unleashed. To be felt. To scream and fail and punch and kick and bite until there was nothing left but ragged breaths and blood.

The punch staggered the copper haired bitch and Eirwen was ready just like the soldier she had been beat and battered into as the little stunned tart came charging back at Eirwen, but it wouldn't be surprise or shock meeting the copper haired charging girl but a twisted grin. The woman was charging head down and Eirwen already planted firmly from throwing her punch would bring her dominant left knee up in a slight twist to knee the rushing girl in the head....

She was almost there, teeth clenched and hate mounting when—

Luka spiraled. Eirwen’s knee caught her just under the ear, hard enough to send the world spinning. Everything flipped before her vision blurred and she landed in the dirt on the flat of her back, breath knocked from her chest. Her ears screamed, ringing with the force of the impact while she gasped on the ground, reaching for something, anything to hold onto. In a daze, she flopped to her side, forcibly throwing one arm over her chest in a breathless attempt to force herself off the ground, onto all fours. Her eyes were watering and she couldn’t make her eyes lock onto anything.

Overhead Grem darted between where she’d landed at the Dresmondi who took her out, leaving a roaring wall of crackling flames in his wake, something to divide one from the other, to give Luka time to drag herself to her feet.