“What does this—,” have to do with anything, you finish inwardly but swallow the actual words. “He didn’t have parents?” Daxon blinks like he’s realizing something, before turning back to the fight.
Decimus is patient, it is in the way she tips her helmed head and turns her entire body away—blade dragging through the dust until Carpophorus grows bored and rushes. One blade pulled free to sing through the air in an over headed arch toward the wolf headed fighter. Blades meet with a spark, throwing their weight outward and away until they’re a few steps out of arms reach.
“A father,” he sounds far away, maybe it’s because you’re both watching the exchange—slash, slash, stab, pivot. You’re no sword master, you wouldn’t even know what to do with a blade if asked, but even you know this is impressive. “He called Alexander his apprentice, not his child.” Carpophorus slams an elbow into Decimus’ collarbone, but she grabs the exposed limb and twists bringing them both to the ground. “Well, apprentice and a wolf.” There’s that same secret in his voice, in his eyes—they seem brighter than they truly are with the reflection of flames in the copper of his irises.
—fall three times as hard, if it’s for nothing at all, sneak peek.