Catta looked expectantly at her father, ready to begin. She had actually practiced some of the drills with her father. Next to her, Kenit, old enough to make a soldier, held an ax at ready. He had a decent stance, Wallach thought, perhaps he had been shown the drill as well. Beside his brother, the younger boy, Jerem, held his stick too tightly and had grim determination on his face. They went slowly through the first drill, and training began.
The next camp, the next evening, the next training drill. Wallach noticed the determined look was still on Jerem's face, and his grip was still too tight, but his stick had changed. Now, it had a crossguard, marking the delineation between “haft” and “blade.”
Wallach approached the boy seriously, moving his hands a bit and showing him the proper grip. The boy nodded, moving his stick around experimentally. “Now, remember to keep your knees bent just a little, and your feet beneath your shoulders, like Kenit.” The boy nodded again, and shifted his stance. Almost everyone in the second rank shuffled a bit as they changed their positions as well.
The next day, the smell of smoke was in the air, and the refugees were worried and restless. They decided the camp would stay put, while scouts went to check out what was happening. Wallach suggested to Kenit and Catta to set out some snares. Annie prepared to do a little foraging for some early herbs. Maybe find something to stretch the food stores a little as well.
Some of the olders set up a patrol around the camp, taking turns walking around armed with an ax. A couple of them had found lengths of wood suitable for staves, and worked on shaping and smoothing them. Jerem was working on his wooden sword, showing what he had done to another boy about the same size. The air of restless fear seemed to fade from around the tents and small firepits.
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