Page 32 of Beyond The Maples
Berkley raises his eyebrows, something between surprise and annoyance flickering across his features. Tarius nods like this is truly important information.
Farra rolls her eyes and says stiffly, "Farra Denver, 25, nothing else of note."
I can't help myself as I chuckle. "Give us at least one fact about yourself,Denver."
Farra folds her arms across her chest defensively. I wait for her to cave, giving her a playful smile.
"Fine, my middle name is Lynne."
She looks pleased with herself, and Leo snorts.
"Wow, how intimate," he teases. I decide to rescue her from her misery.
"Hi, I'm Maple Treow, 23, guardian of two younger siblings. I'm here for them."
Berk gives me a nod, a moment of understanding passing between us. We both have people to look out for.
"Also, I hope to learn to slay dragons," I add comically.
Tarius looks excited by this statement, not picking up my sarcasm, and I smile.
"Well. I guess let's head to the training area and get started. I hear the new lieutenant and his legion are intense," Berkley states, turning to leave without waiting for a response from anyone.
"Legion?" I ask, frowning.
"An elite crew with combat specialties. They train us. They are usually... unpleasant," Farra states casually.
I groan, reluctantly following my crew through the halls.
My hands are on my knees as I try to get my stomach muscles to obey me and stop heaving.
"Just... just give me a second, for the love of all the Gods."
I'm sparring with Farra, who clearly has the upper hand. Although Farra is only a few inches shorter than me, I feel like I tower over her. Imagine my surprise when she began handing me my ass. She's fast, and I don't have the drive to actually hit her, but she doesn't suffer from the same affliction––her competitive nature comes roaring to life on the mat.
Because of this, I've been trying to dodge and dance around her for the last half hour, and this is after my already pathetic attempt to run this morning.
"Come on, either you're holding back or you're embarrassingly out of shape," Farra challenges.
Last night had been less awkward than the first, but Farra is still trying to keep her distance. She answered a few questions with one word before rolling over and ignoring me for the rest of the night.
"It's not my fault you're some sort of genetic anomaly, ok?" I snarl.
I take a deep breath, knowing I'm not really pushing myself. I had decided before even stepping out here that I wouldn't allow myself to get carried away. For two reasons: one, I don't need any kind of attention drawn to myself, and two being that I work hard to keep myself in check. If I unleash that piece of me that likes to be a little ruthless, I worry about how that might look to the others.
Our group takes up a small ring in the corner. No one's given us instructions for this part yet. The legion was too busy yesterday, apparently. The unit crewswere encouraged to come in and get comfortable on the mats and with each other before the real training begins.
I grab a drink of water and wander off to the side, signaling I'm bowing out for a minute. Farra doesn't seem ready, so Leo hops in eagerly. I shake my head, seeing the mischievous grin that pulls at Farra's lips as he bounces towards her.
My eyes keep drifting to the giant pole in the middle of the training center. I wonder what Wesley meant when he said not to get my hopes up, and I also wonder how one gets to the top. The tower would be smooth, but it has thin diagonal cuts all over from top to bottom. Not big enough to stick your hands into, even just for grip. The grey surface is rubbery in texture, similar to the mat floors in the rings, only darker. It's maybe six feet in diameter and easily over thirty feet high. No windows, no sign of stairs or rope, just an ugly grey pole. Berk comes up beside me.
"They used to call it the widow maker."
My lip curls in disgust.
"That's awful. I don't understand, though. What's the goal here?"
He points to the top.
