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Sally stood facing the pond, the late afternoon sun glinting off its surface and into her eyes. She squinted into the bright light, her stance wide and firm as she squared her shoulders. She drew a breath in, let it out, drew another. Slowly, she pulled her hands up, arms rotating at the elbow as she brought them level with her face. Palms flat, she pushed down, exhaled, and began the Mok’bara.
Her body swept through the motions of her people’s martial art with a fluidity and grace that belied her strength. Fingers extended and palms flat, her hands became blades, slowly cutting through the air as she moved. She was grateful for this time to herself—she cared deeply for Anderson, but being around new people was trying for her, especially when three of those people were children. Noisy, raucous, always-under-foot children. The three days she’d spent cooped up in the family’s homestead as rain pelted down outside hadn’t helped her mood. She was cagey and longed for the open air, for solitude and a chance to meditate. As she bent to the side, her right hand nearly kissed the ground before sliding through the air in front of her left thigh and over her chest before her hands and wrists twisted around one another, pushing outward. Which was the only thing that saved her from being completely submerged in the pond as she was knocked off her feet.
She pushed herself up, her long hair clinging to her cheeks and throat as she spluttered around a mouthful of muck and pond scum, a not-insubstantial weight settled firmly between her shoulders. The weight squirmed and rolled off, and Sally sprang to her feet, roaring, her teeth bared as she whirled to face her attacker.
When she turned, three breathless children looked back at her, one of them slightly damp, and muddy about the legs.
“We’re awfully sorry, ma’am,” aid Aran, the only boy and the oldest of the three, stepping in front of his sisters and into the line of fire. Sally’s posture relaxed a bit as he spoke, but her face remained stern. “We were playing tag and didn’t know you were out here. And Cora’s never been very good at watching where she was going.” Aran flashed a half-hearted grin over his shoulder at his younger sibling, who was sniffling a bit and staring at the ground.
“Say you’re sorry!” Connie cuffed her twin sister on the shoulder. Cora gave a small yelp.
“I—I’m sorry I ran you into, ma’am,” the little girl spluttered, fidgeting with the now-grimy hem of her dress. She flicked her eyes up and looked at Sally. Her eyes looked nearly as wet as her skirt. “And I’m sorry I got your pretty hair all wet.”
Sally huffed out a breath to disguise the way Cora’s compliment made her want to smile (just a little). “Exercise more caution next time, and I shall accept your apologies.”
“I’ll try, ma’am, but Aran’s right. I’m not very good at knowing what’s around me.” Cora had gone back to staring at her shoes.
“If you are not aware of what is around you, then how can you be a warrior or protect yourself?” Sally arched an eyebrow as she spoke.
“Girls can’t be warriors!” Aran cried, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth—or maybe just as soon as he caught sight of the ferocious glare Sally levelled at him.
“And why is that? All that makes a warrior a warrior is strength and training and honor, and anyone can have those things,” she said, closing the distance between herself and the children with a series of careful steps.
It was at that moment that the children’s mother decided it was time to interrupt. “Amaranthus, Heliconia, and Coreopsis Anderson, I know you three aren’t bothering Miss Sally,” Clio hollered from the garden. At the sound of her voice, her offspring all snapped to attention. In the fashion of all annoyed mothers, Clio’s hands were planted firmly on her hips as she surveyed exactly what her children were up to down by the pond. “You kids had better get up here and wash up for supper!”
Connie, prim and obedient, took it upon herself to set an example for her siblings and said a quick apology of her own to Sally before politely turning on her heel and climbing the small hill toward the house. Aran followed shortly thereafter, nudging Cora as he walked past in an attempt to get his sister to follow him. She stayed put, seemingly content to count the blades of grass at her feet as Sally turned to face the sun once more and resume her exercises. As she began, she heard a soft voice coming from close behind her. It was Cora.
“Excuse me, ma’am…” she trailed off. Sally turned a bit, watching Cora over her shoulder as the girl continued. “I—I know mama and daddy said we’re not supposed to bother you while you’re training, but,” for the first time since her apology, Cora met Sally’s eyes, her own were fierce and determined, if still a little teary at the corners as she sucked in a breath and continued, “but I was wondering. Maybe…if it’s not too much trouble, that is, maybe you could…teach me. To be a warrior like you?”
Sally turned fully and looked down at the girl in front of her. She smiled, just a bit, and extended her hand to Cora, saying, “It would be an honor to teach you, but we must ask your parents’ permission first.”
Cora’s grin was fit to split her face as she grabbed Sally’s hand and all but ran to the homestead, all but dragging the Klingon woman behind her.
The next afternoon, there were two people practicing the Mok’bara down by the pond.