Dated for May 19th; shortly after the events of this thread
That insolent bastard! Anann had not thought Keese would have the gall to strike her. The pure shock from the smack was all that had kept her from tearing into the silver male the instant his hand had struck her cheek. Haven had appeared out nowhere and pulled the bastard off her before she even had a chance to react. The Lady still wasn't sure yet if she was glad that the Knight had stepped in or not. She certainly hadn't needed his help and it she had to admit would have been satisfying to take her outrage out on Keese. Everyday he seemed to find a new way to get under her skin and today he had taken it too far.
Her hackles had yet to settle from the moment his hands had met her flesh in the stables. Once she had calmed Rem, for the stallion had nearly kicked his stall door from its casters when he had heard the ruckus Keese had started, Anann headed straight home. She needed to let her frustrations out on something. Though it was quite unfortunate that it wouldn't be Keese, for he was the cause of all of her frustrations. Instead she would find something in the training yard, though until she actually reached her cabin she had remained undecided. She was tempted to bring out her training swords, but fear shattering one of the wooden blades in her current state. Nor would she abuse her blades of steel. So it was the large, cylindrical bag of sand that she hefted over her shoulder. It's attached length of rusted chain in her other hand. She regretted having not yet acquired a staff or spear, which had often enjoyed as well.
One might find it odd. The large, bare patch of dirt under a limb, a strong limb with a rather unusual wrapping of leather of it's bark. At least when the homemade punching bag was not hung in place, the leather protecting the bark of the tree of the constant shifting of the chain. For now the old thing almost looked new, having recently been recovered after surviving it's first year of abuse. Hung in it's place and the woman with her chest and hands bound in broad strips of leather the marring of its pristine, finely oiled, and stretched surface started.
It started with a barrage of punches. The force of each punch swing the heavy bag of at least a couple hundred pounds. Causing the golden wolf to dance around it, with it, as her assault continued. No longer just her fists, but a frenzied attack including knees and elbows. Still it wasn't satisfying, she wanted, needed the challenge of something that actually fought back.
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