two of staves

Read-Only, backdated to early January.

Word Count » 563

It had been Rémy’s suggestion that they train with the staves. Max had seen little to gain from using a stick, and argued against it time and time again. Ezekiel had to convince him finally, citing both his half-brother and father as examples of those who could use the weapon well. He had mentioned it was something easy to carry and easy to find, and that any warrior would do well to learn any and all weapons. This had finally spurred the hybrid into agreement, something that he was now regretting.

While Max was larger than Rémy, the two half-dogs were both heavier than the majority of the clan. This bulk made their combat tactics different, though this was entirely new to the pale boy. His Cajun companion laughed as they headed out to the backyard, close enough for him to keep his nose open for the stew simmering inside.

“You beat me Tahyo and I feed you real good,” the dark-muzzled cur chided, his ears high and bushy tail wagging behind him. “Otherwise you gonna clean dat whole kitchen fo’ me.”

What!? That’s not what I agreed to!” Max barked, his hackles flaring up. Both palms gripped the smooth staff. Rémy grinned toothily, eyes gleaming red in the sunlight. “Den you best beat me, bebette.”

With a growl, Max swung the stick wide. It was a careless thing, propelled like a baseball bat, and Rémy blocked it with his own staff easily. He took a step back, slid apart from this, and swung towards Max’s feet. The boy jumped away quickly, but he was not fast enough to avoid the thrust that caught one of his calves. A yowl escaped him, surprised by the pain of the blow, but it was fleeting.

He returned the swing, mirroring the technique. Again, Rémy countered him, though this time he stepped forward and clipped the boy high on his shoulder. This losing battle went on for nearly twenty long minutes before Max finally landed a blow, earning a yip from the cur-dog as he pulled his weight from one foot. Unsurprisingly, Rémy simply laughed—he moved to strike only seconds later.

They went like this for another twenty minutes or so, until finally, Rémy caught Max hard in the gut and sent him reeling. On the cold ground the hybrid let out a breathless whine, only to catch himself and silence the noise. He sat up and a pale hand was extended to him.

“You done alright,” Rémy praised, his tail wagging as he helped the boy up. “We do this mo’ ‘n you gonna be better den me.”

Dismissing this with a shrug, Max panted heavily. His gut ached, as did the other parts of his body where the stick had struck, but he was pleased. Rémy lifted his nose, sniffed the air, and let out another barking laugh. “Oooh-wie, you worked up an appetite? We gonna feast; you go’n git , I’m gonna holler for Enkiel.” Max smirked at this. Rémy had taken on the duty of ensuring the healer was well fed, though he seemed to delight in annoying the jackal like nobody’s business. Max picked up the two staves and carried them into the kitchen. Once he placed these down, he pulled out two of the well-crafted wooden bowls acquired during the Festival and waited for the two men to return.

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