It had been a long time since Neela had last practised her fighting. For the last year fighting had been a taboo subject for the collie, something done only when there was no other choice and certainly not practised. Recent events however had shown Neela that this was wrong. She felt guilty about what had happened and probably would for the rest of her life but she hadn’t been the only one hurt by what had happened.
Kaer had hurt Tony. Pandora had been kidnapped and cut to lure her out. JAce, Keldava and Honrin all acquired their fair share of wounds fighting Marcas.
If Neela had been in fighting shape then likely none of those injuries would have happened. She had let her skills slide through purposeful disuse and as a result people had gotten hurt because she couldn't, or was too scared to, fight her own battles.
More than that she was ashamed at what the trauma had brought her to, cowering away from allies just because they were strangers, unable to leave the pack territory without looking over her shoulder every few minutes. Training herself to fight again wouldn’t be an instant solution, but hopefully by doing so she could regain her confidence, and get gain the ability to better protect her pack.
For the past few days Neela had been coming out to a quiet clearing she had found about half way between the fort and the edge of Casa's territory. A small stream ran through a patch of sandy ground just big enough to practise on. Also present in the clearing was an old, thick tree from which Neela had hung an old punching bag she had found in a corner of the Meria's hull, filled with sand and suspended from the thick rope she used onboard her boat.
Things had started slow but after a few days Neela found herself falling into old forms easier and easier, her punches and kicks gaining strength and her limbs regaining toughness lost to leisure. Slowly, bit by bit, the years of training she had been given out of misplaced fear about her mother returning was coming back to her, ready to be put to use for a better use, the defence of her pack and her family. Her new family.
Despite her progress Neela was still sticking with the basics for now, peppering the bag with basic punches and kicks, occasionally darting backwards to avoid or block imaginary blows. Neela's fighting style was one she had built over time and it was suited to her lithe form, focusing more on dodging and deflecting than straight out blocking. The collie moved in a circle around the bag, ducking and weaving, punching and kicking. Her mind and body both entirely focused on the task at hand.
Upwards strike where a muzzle would be, step back and duck, raising her hands to block any low blows to her head. Spin and strike with the back of her hand as she rose, then follow that up with a roundhouse kick before pivoting the other way, catching the bag in a hug and driving her knee where the groin would be. What had started at the clumsy motions of somebody who hadn’t fought regularly in over a year was slowly becoming the practised, fluid movements that Neela had once been used to.
Hopefully it would be enough; in the future she had no intention of watching her friends and family be hurt because she wasn't good enough to help them.
.risinghope b {font-weight:bold; color:#a38750; letter-spacing:.5px}
.risinghope p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 15px; margin:0px;}
.risinghope {margin:0 auto; width:600px; background-color:#471e00; background-image:url(http://i43.tinypic.com/1vif8.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:3px double #885004; padding: 330px 0px 7px 0px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#a27e36; letter-spacing:.5px; word-spacing:.9x; line-height:13px; text-align:justify;}
</style>
[/html]