(GRIFFIN)
The midday sun beats down on the palace training grounds as Erik and I circle each other, wooden practice swords held at the ready. We've been at this for over an hour, sweat soaking through our training clothes, muscles burning pleasantly with exertion. It's been too long since we've sparred like this, like brothers rather than king and commander.
We may be shifters, but there are certain situations in which shifting isn't an option. We need to be able to use weapons as well.
Erik lunges forward, his blade whipping toward my ribs. I parry the blow, countering with a strike of my own that he barely manages to block.
"Your mind's not on the fight," he observes, stepping back to create distance between us.
"My mind hasn't been on much of anything lately," I admit, lowering my sword slightly.
Erik takes the opening to attack again, and I respond automatically, muscle memory carrying me through the exchange. We break apart, circling once more.
