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Is it true? Are we really going to do this? These were the questions Crow had been pondering for months.
And now, with the light of a mid-evening sun slanting in through the dusty windows of their rented cabin, he watched as Isen donned his armor in preparation for his training.
They were in the prop room, with slouching puppets and hanging masks staring at them from the walls and corners, and mirrors reflecting their movements in figures multiplied.
He was just going to ask whether he would like some help when Isen called him over and asked him to pull some straps tighter on his outfit, giving him instructions in an almost expert manner he did not expect from him. He assumed the new fellow in their circle had taught him something before the trial. Once the pieces were secure, and all his limbs were covered, Isen picked up a shield and a blunt sword, and stepped out into the yard.
Crow stood at the doorway with his arms crossed, watching him silently.
Isen was not alone. There was a man similarly dressed awaiting him at the other end of the yard, shield and sword by his side.
This man had long brown hair, not unlike Crow himself, but was taller than him by some inches, and broader at the shoulders. He was the newest addition to their small band, a humble theatre troupe of four, if you didn’t count the rest of the circle, made up of close friends and followers of similar interests.
The other man stepped forward towards Isen, sword raised, and Isen met him halfway. They each took on a stance, then their dance began.
Crow was impressed by the way the man moved. He didn’t know much about him, except that he had been born in a far away land and had received his training in the central kingdom. He was on his way to becoming a knight, when he changed course (perhaps a change of heart), deciding he did not want to serve the king after all.
Isen, of course, was fairly new to it all, and the man took his time teaching him, both in practice and theory, as Crow saw him stopping every once in awhile to make an adjustment to Isen’s posture or give him some clue as to improving his attack or defense.
Isen was not doing too bad. He appeared to stumble a few times, but never gave up the fight, determined to learn from his blunders and excel at this new art form.
He was a little guy, but he could be fierce when he set his mind to a thing.
His long black hair was tied back and tucked away in his helmet, and Crow could see from his exposed features a grim expression set on his face.
This was apparently not his first session. It was only the first one Crow was witness to. By now, Isen had already learned the very basics, and was pushing himself to go beyond.
“Not too fast,” cautioned the stranger, putting his hand out in front of him. “One lesson at a time.”
Isen appeared slightly annoyed at that admonition. He wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone. But Crow had known him since they were young. He knew his friend was always adaptable when it came to anything that involved improving on his skills and his vision. Accordingly, Isen gave his new comrade leave to take the lead, and fell back a pace or two in his haste.
_
At the end of it all, he came in looking well spent, but cheerful. He took off his helmet, and let his hair flow freely.
Crow could see some sweat lining his forehead and drenching some of those black strands so that they stuck together in a few thin clumps.
He helped his friend remove the armor with the same patience he had helped him to put it on. He thought, that was it for the day, and he was going to ask what they would be having for supper.
“Supper?” asked Isen, cradling the helmet in his arms, looking somewhat confused. “That can wait until after rehearsal.”
“Rehearsal?” asked Crow, raising his eyebrows. “You mean to say you have energy left for that?”
“Of course,” said Isen, smiling. “Always.”