Clack.
The sound of wood meeting wood echoed sharply across the training ground, vibrating up Cherion's arms and settling into his teeth. His hands were shaking, not the "I just had too much caffeine" kind of shaking, but the "my muscles are literally contemplating a strike" kind of trembling. But he'd done it. The wooden practice blade in his hand hadn't flown off into a nearby decorative shrub this time. It was held.
"Good work, Lord Cherion," Elios said.
