low and soft and bristly, change of direction heralded too late by the end of a braid. Shrill high
of the blade, notes changed in the barest of whistles, aligning the strike - flickerflash of light down sleek steel and blonde hair alike. Body lean and powerful, all grace and utter control.
Perfection in the control, power restrained, and the rainsoft tap-tap of bare feet on matting.
Nothing to betray the sheer power of the strike, thunder and lightning together in one swift blow, and grey eyes glittering like the steel - only hot and harsh,
like the smell of ozone in the storm. Hurricane bent to will, focused into a single calm center surrounded by devastation.
Niko took the training room apart in methodical strokes, moving from target to target in silence.
And under the still calm surface beat a thundering heart and red blood raced down every limb, flushing olive-dark skin.
The iron control hid a core of firey passion, rejoicing in the song of the blade with every scrap of soul, every beat of heart, delighting in the resistance, the cut.
Perfection and still the hunger for something
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