Reginald PoV
I dodged all of my son's clumsy swings. The pale ash branch whipped through the air with a clean, shrill hiss, missing my ribs by a fraction of an inch as I swayed back on one heel.
Takeshi let out a sharp grunt of effort, overextending on the follow-through. His boots slipped slightly in the damp loam, but he caught himself with remarkable agility, his dark feline tail snapping sideways to restore his center of gravity before he could pitch forward onto his nose.
"Hold your footing, Sir Takeshi," I chided smoothly, pivoting on the ball of my foot to let his second strike—an ambitious, rising diagonal slash—pass harmlessly through empty space. "Wild swings leave your ribs naked to the claw. A beast will not wait for you to recover your breath."
"Stop movin' so much, Pa!"
I snickered as I leapt back. "Silly kitty. A monster won't stop just because you tell them to."
