The evening had grown cooler across the plain and, thankfully, the Yecine family's training area. Qatrand moved through the final forms of their sword style alongside Navuill and three other young cultivators that were participating in the events.
Heavy blades caught the torch and lantern lights from multiple sources as they followed the elder's ritual cadence. The elder's stern voice carried clearly to their small group.
"Again. Your recovery is still too slow."
Qat felt the truth in the critique - her muscles had grown a touch heavier after hours of repetition. The raven-haired swordswoman adjusted her grip and concentrated on maintaining proper form despite the fatigue.
Her cousin put away his amusement at the determination in her pigeon-blue eyes. Navuill's own swings had grown similarly labored, though he hid it just as well as their 'heir'. The others showed much more obvious signs of wear in their stances.
