#following the lovely tem definitelynotshouting’s absolutely gorgeous prompt list (to be linked when it’s posted) for the month!

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 2 — On the Edge of a Knife

—☾—

Etho idly paces around the froglight shop’s lobby; the day as sweet and slow as molasses as each hour trudges by in an uninspired march.

There’s plenty he could be doing, sure—the shop’s exterior is begging to be built, though the glory in an inside-out base is that the outside is merely a suggestion.

He could rework Ravager Rush’s wiring to accommodate four-digit scores, or he could build the farm that’s been itching at the back of his mind ever since he finished the game. He could even work on his base to appease the endless teasing over his (perfectly adequate) roof.

His mind churns with ideas but his motivation to act upon any of them lulls. He counts the lily pads as he steps over them and fidgets with a zipper on his vest.

Eventually, after a tick or a minute or a day, the unmistakable sound of someone taking a landing too steep against the grass outside cuts through the silence.

“Etho! Etho-ooooo!” Gem’s voice, even less mistakable than the tumble Etho assumes she took, rings out.

“In here,” Etho says, and Gem meets him at the top step of the right wing. Her hair is messy around the edges of her bandanna, and there are fresh grass stains on her knees, almost invisible against the dark fabric.

“Etho! Wonderful, yes,” Gem says, with an odd expression that smooths itself away almost immediately. “Are you busy?”

“Nah, did you need something?” he asks, scuffing his sandal against the copper stair.

“Up for some sparring?”

Usually, they spar in the evenings, swords glinting in the reflected sunset until the bugs that gather around the edges of Gem’s river become unbearable.

Etho considers his productive day leading up to this point. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

—☾—

Gem dumps Etho’s sword into his outstretched arms after he respawns for the third time with a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Five hearts,” she informs him, and Etho groans.

“You’re too fast! It’s hard to get hits on you,” Etho complains, but beneath his mask, he’s smiling too.

“Looks like you’ll just have to try harder,” Gem says, before widening her stance and steadying her blade. Etho mirrors her, and a slight shift of Gem’s boot against the sandstone of the beach is the only warning Etho gets before she’s racing up on the offense.

Etho parries her first blow; her second. Her third swing slices through the fabric of Etho’s left sleeve, and the gash stings, but not enough to stop him from lunging forward, closing the opening Gem leaves by lifting her arms too high and catching her in the side.

Gem grunts, but leverages ahead, pushing into Etho’s space in a furious whirl of movement that has Etho stumbling back a step. He snakes in more hits than he had in their previous round, but has no time or space to get in crits; most of his efforts are concentrated in avoiding Gem’s blade.

It’s over in a second. Etho’s vision goes black, and then he’s sitting up in the respawn bed nestled within a faux-shipwreck.

“Again?” Gem asks when Etho’s sword is back in hands.

Etho shrugs. “Sure.”

Gem’s fighting style is quick, cutting, and brutal; her movements leave no room for hesitation and her strikes land true a considerable amount of the time. Despite that, she maintains a fluidity that twines through her limbs like how waves break apart the sea’s surface, and she’s smooth as she transitions from one move to the next.

Tension strings across her frame now, in the tilt to her shoulders and line of her mouth and too-tight grip on her sword. Her swings are sloppier than usual and she brings them down harshly, almost desperately.

Sweat beads on Etho’s brow; he can see how it similarly runs down Gem’s face. An aching tiredness seeps into his limbs, but he’s not about to call it quits; Gem needs the company at least.

In a twist of sheer luck, Etho gains the upper hand, and he uses it to crit, before slashing again and driving Gem back. In a flash, she’s pushing ahead and twisting to the side with the ferocity of a cornered animal, and the set of teeth she bares is the edge of her blade suddenly pressed against Etho’s throat.

They both freeze. Gem’s hardly one for headshots.

The cool press of metal is gone before Etho has the chance to speak against it. Gem sheaths it at her side, looking troubled.

“You okay?” Etho asks, putting away his own sword.

“Yeah, I’m just… suddenly really tired,” Gem says, and her voice is pinched in all of the wrong places. “Thanks for sparring with me.”

Etho waits a couple ticks to see if she’ll continue. He wonders if he should press further, but she doesn’t look like she wants to talk. Gem turns to collect her stuff.

“It was a good session,” he says.

Gem tugs on her armor and equips her elytra. She offers him a tight-lipped smile before taking off.

He touches a hand to his neck. The blood there has already started to crust. Etho stands alone on the beach and watches Gem’s figure disappear over the horizon.