The Warrior and his Ward

Although their family trip up to the north had been intended as a means of relaxation and spending time with the in-laws, Artorias would have been remiss if he let his routine of honing and sharpening his skills in combat be laid to the side for an extended period of time. As Aegis, he was responsible not only for the protection of his family, but also for every wolf in his pack and the lands the Hallows claimed. That meant constant dedication to keeping his skills sharp and ready when he needed them. It could be someone's life on the line relying on them one day. As such, Artorias had snuck a pair of sparring swords up in the wagon with them so he could practice either solo or with anyone who wanted a lesson in armed combat from the veteran warrior.

Artorias rose early in the morning as he usually did, slipping from the bed of wam furs while doing his best not to wake Briar. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before taking up Embershard and silently slipping out of the cave, following the winding tunnels from their guest room out to the communal area amidst the rising peaks. It was dawn, but the morning sun hadn't crested the mountain range yet, leaving the open space cloaked in shadow, only the ever-burning campfire casting a warm glow around the area. Artorias padded over to the fire and sat down before it, gazing into the flickering flames and bathing in the warmth while he closed his eyes and began his morning meditation. This had been a staple in his morning routine since Sirius had shown him the way almost his entire lifetime ago.

Once he had finished his meditation and found his center, Artorias' fire-kissed eyes flashed open and the alpha wolf rose to his paws. He padded to the open space between the fire and the obelisk, shifting into his combat stance and setting his paws firmly on the ground. The Aegis reached for the sword on his back, taking the hilt in his teeth and drawing it smoothly with the soft rasp of steel on leather. Then he began his practice, moving with practiced flourishes and smooth footwork about the open space. He turned and twisted, bringing his head about to and fro to swing the sword from side to side, slicing at imaginary enemies and deflecting phantom attacks. The way he moved almost looked like dancing, his moved were rehearsed with such finesse and grace. They had been performed and perfected over the wolf's lifetime—a testament to his life's dedication and his commitment to his role in life and his mother's teachings.

"Artorias Carpathius"