Sandor may have his reasons for thinking ranged weapons are cowardly, but all the practice reinforces to Wrench why he doesn't particularly like fighting up close. It's a new set of muscles that are being exercised, sure. Wielding the sword, learning to swing it, feeling what it's like to absorb a hit... those are all things he has no real frame of reference for. But as they continue to clank swords in a badly choreographed dance around the goat pen, Wrench realizes something else entirely.
He'd be fucked if this were one against two. And he'd be totally obliterated if it were one against any others.
If he's going to manage this, he's going to have to climb outside of his own tunnel vision. This close up, he can't see everything at once. There's too much threatening to pull his attention at any given time. The sights, the sensations, the anticipation and reaction... He's damn good at surveying a whole landscape and taking everything in. At zoning in on a target and steadying his breath. Bringing everything to a quiet, calm center so he can line up his shot perfectly. This doesn't give him the time for that. This demands he be everywhere at once, and that means Wrench has no goddamned clue what's going on behind his back.
For the first time in maybe a long time, he feels really, really alone.
By the time they call it quits he's shed half his furs over the fence and he's still sweating. Wrench wipes his brow and nods at Sandor's offered gift. He can practice his swing on something inanimate in the meantime. That's good.
He still feels like his body is humming from absorbing the clank of so much metal, so it's a good thing he only has to think the words, rather than write them down.
no subject
He'd be fucked if this were one against two. And he'd be totally obliterated if it were one against any others.
If he's going to manage this, he's going to have to climb outside of his own tunnel vision. This close up, he can't see everything at once. There's too much threatening to pull his attention at any given time. The sights, the sensations, the anticipation and reaction... He's damn good at surveying a whole landscape and taking everything in. At zoning in on a target and steadying his breath. Bringing everything to a quiet, calm center so he can line up his shot perfectly. This doesn't give him the time for that. This demands he be everywhere at once, and that means Wrench has no goddamned clue what's going on behind his back.
For the first time in maybe a long time, he feels really, really alone.
By the time they call it quits he's shed half his furs over the fence and he's still sweating. Wrench wipes his brow and nods at Sandor's offered gift. He can practice his swing on something inanimate in the meantime. That's good.
He still feels like his body is humming from absorbing the clank of so much metal, so it's a good thing he only has to think the words, rather than write them down.