Fight the Friction

The weather was much more mild than that of the place they came from, but the thought of leaving his mothers grave was hardly something he was coping well with. He'd kept to himself, more than usual if that was even possible, and rarely sought out the company of others or even leaving the doors of the castle. It had been weeks since their move here and there was only so much of the castle he could take anymore, so he needed to get out. Maybe he could make a site here where he could remember his mother. It wouldn't be the same, but maybe it would work. During the nicer seasons he could collect flowers, but for now he would only worry about making the site and giving himself some place to grieve.

Coming out the grand doors of the castle, he could hear something going on not far. His eyes caught sight of Artorias jumping and lunging with some glorified stick and he rolled his eyes before making his way down the castle steps with the hopes of not being seen or caught by the boy that seemed hellbent on training with what he could only guess was a wooden sword. Grimshaw never saw the appeal in fighting with weapons when wolves were more than able to fight with what they were given, but he supposed this lot was something different and as strange as he thought it was, he was left to wonder how long he would manage against weaponized wolves with only his own teeth and claws. Perhaps the boy was smarter for training with a toy sword now rather than later, but that definitely didn't mean he would praise the boy for it. In fact, he was still keen on not being seen while he tried to make his way past the boy to get own with his own personal task.


"Speech!"

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