The first rays of a sun, peaking over the walls of Skyhold, flashed against the burnished armor of a Seeker.
With a satisfied grunt, Cassandra seated herself on a nearby bench, sweat-soaked from a vigorous practice session with Krem.
Rotating her shoulder, she felt a little tightness in the joint and knew she would later need a muscle salve.
She smirked, remembering the look on Krem’s face when he had attempted to unsettle her with his shield slam.
There would be a bruise for sure but Cassandra kept her feet, much to the charger’s surprise.
Krem was more brute force than technique, no doubt reinforced from his training with Bull, and Cassandra rarely had trouble besting him. Even so, he was good and, more importantly, consistent.
In these early mornings, when the light was still grey, some would come out to the yard for practice.
Perhaps Blackwall would stumble out, still bleary-eyed from a restless sleep and a bit too sloppy for Cassandra’s taste; Bull, if he had not been too far into his cups the night before,
would swing that giant axe of his with an alarming smile on his face; and even the Inquisitor, if she needed to perfect a spell or, as Cassandra often suspected,
she just wanted to throw a few fireballs her way. But Krem was
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