The Fine Print

On this day, as Absinth prowled through the underbrush of the swampland, her ears caught the faint sounds of playful growls and rustling nearby. Intrigued, she followed the sounds until she stumbled upon a clearing. There, a sight that both amused and baffled her: two children engaged in a spirited bout of sparring. It wasn’t the most practiced thing she had ever seen. In fact, she was appalled to think they had parents to teach them this shit – they were shit at it. Where the hell were all the kids that had actually been through the ringer? She wanted to be reminded of herself, not see everything she was glad she wasn’t.

One of the young wolves had fur as vibrant as freshly spilled blood, every shade of crimson swirling across his coat in stripes and whatnot. His movements were mechanical yet passionate, fueled by youth and determination. He had some weird ass ears too. Engaged with him was a younger boy of monochromatic hues. Less experienced, obviously, but the drive and tenacity was there. It didn’t help that he was younger. But he’d be a big’un in time. The two of them were having a good bit of trouble with the slick ground, slipping and sliding around while simultaneously trying to best one another.

She observed them with a playful twinkle in her emerald eyes. Despite their enthusiasm though, it was evident to her that they lacked finesse and technique, even the clumsy sort you get from the basics. Who’s parents were failing their children here? Haha. Sensing an opportunity for mischief and perhaps a touch of mentorship, she decided to intervene. Maybe she could get that sense of accomplishment Aresenn got from his lessons…

A grin spread across her features as Absinth stepped into the clearing they were sparring in, her presence announcing itself with a rumbling, impish laugh. "Hello, little ones," Absinth purred, her voice as smooth as honey dripping from its comb. "Sparring are you? But, it seems to me that both of you could benefit from a touch of refinement in technique." With an assertive saunter, the woman approached them, her movements fluid and graceful as she came to stand before them. “For starters, You’ve no idea how to adapt to your terrain. Your footwork lacks finesse, your attacks lack ingenuity.” Absinth eyed the two children, daring either one of them to take offense to her criticism. “Your stance is important, keep your limbs shoulder-width apart, knees bent and ready to move, distribute your weight evenly. You have to keep a low center of gravity — jumping won’t do you any favors.” Her gaze swept over them, assessing their response to this impromptu lesson.

wormwood