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Kalypso watched as her children practiced with their various chosen weapons. Athalie seemed proud with her bow on her back and her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife. Isadore stood tall with his staff longer than him in his grip. Eulalie was the one who seemed uncertain and clumsy with her mother's sword in her hand. She had insisted on taking the live weapon in practice rather than the carved wood blades that had remained after the fall of the Kingdom.
They were taking turns striking at the various points on the practice dummy's hay-stuffed body. The weapons cache and training yard had been mostly relocated to the village so that it was closer for the remaining Petite Cour members. The commons may have been burned but the structure was not totally decimated, so there was plenty of space for storage left. And all the unfinished hollows were usable.
Isadore was somehow in his prime, swinging the weapon he had chosen thanks to his aunt. Athalie was still not a good shot with the bow and so swung with the knife to mimic combat without her preferred weapon. Eulalie hesitated when it came to be her turn and ungracefully stumbled forward, poking the dummy with the saber before lurching back.
Kalypso's lips tightened somewhat at the rather disgraceful performance her eldest displayed but said nothing. Her fingers did dig into her arms somewhat, though, and she knew she presented a tense and displeased figure in the background. Eulalie did not look back, but brushed off the hair from her eyes and waited for her turn after her two siblings had theirs again.
Eulalie stumbled again and swung the blade as though to cut into the dummy's side. The Oratrice moved forward without pause and covered the ground quickly. She hooked her daughter's wrist firmly and pulled the arm away from the dummy.
You wanted to use the saber, so use it like a saber and not like a giant pig-sticker. If you want to use a cutting sword, you should train up to use your grandfather's sword instead. Her words were harsh, but she had spent enough time watching her eldest bumble around with a graceful weapon with all the poise of a walrus. She had expected more from her, especially as it seemed her siblings had picked things they were actually interested in. If you don't want to learn to fight, then say something before you embarrass yourself. Or worse, hurt yourself by hesitating. Her lips were tight as a line when she let go of Eulalie's wrist.
The girl gingerly massaged her wrist, looking down.