Even though the fierce wind blew in ice cold rain, Emara had asked him for something else after their run today. Apparently, she wasn’t satisfied with where her head was at when they had arrived at the cottage. He had suggested combat, and with the suggestion, she had perked up a little. Something had lightened in her dark eyes.
But she was about to break.
He could feel it.
He knew of too many hunters in the Selection who had reached their physical and mental limit and snapped. But what Torin had realised after years of hunting was that there was beauty when someone crumbled. There was a magic that stirred when someone broke down. It was a test of character, and in the Selection, breakdown was where the commanders would weed out the weak. If they did not get back up and get their head straight, they did not merit the right to be a warrior of Thorin.
“Give me more,” he pushed. “More. Punch harder.”
And she did. She threw everything she could at him. Emara threw punches like she was battling a demon or Taymir, screams coming from deep in her throat, her wild hair whipping in the air around her.
And then there was blinding rage on her face.
“Harder. Faster,” he pushed, readjusting his feet to keep up with her strength. “Come on, Emara, is that all you’ve got?”
A frustrated cry escaped her lips.
“Don’t let that magic out. Keep it in and just punch. Punch!”
“I am punching!” she roared like a beast of the forest. A gust of wind pushed him back. As she connected with his hand for the last time, a broken sob engulfed her.
And she fell apart.
Before her legs could give out, he caught her. He lifted her into his arms where she wept and wept. She hadn’t cried in days, but Torin had known that her emotions would catch up to her. It was good that this was happening now instead of when she was standing in front of the magical factions as the heir of House Air.He wanted her to get it all out now. That had been his plan. Torin said nothing as he stood with her in his arms, and they braced the icy rain together.
“In through your nose,” Torin coached.
“Out through my mouth, yeah, I’ve got it,” she hissed.
She had been running and training for what felt like forever, days upon days. She couldn’t even keep track of it anymore. Everything was starting to blur in her little Fairland bubble.
Eat, train, bathe, repeat.
Sleep was something she was working on, and with the lack of it, she was extremely irritable. In the beginning, all she had done was sleep. Now, it was hard to find it at all.
“Talking affects the breaths you need to be taking right now.” Torin’s brow lifted. “Try less of that.”
The storming weather of winter had subsided, but it had crisped over again, freezing the water droplets to the bare branches and firming up the ground. Even with the low temperature, she found herself wiping the perspiration from her brow as she looked up at Torin, who was running alongside her.
“Why do you never show any signs that you’ve been running for ages?”
A lingering surprise dusted across his features for a second, like it always did when she finally spoke to him. She hadn’t been very vocal recently.
“That was just a light jog to wake us up, angel.” He smirked, coming to the end of their route.
“A light jog? It was hardly a light jog.” She panted.
He had been increasing her pace ever since she’d recovered from her meltdown in front of him. He had pushed and pushed and pushed…and she had broken.
But just like every time they trained, she had gotten back up.
Even when she was running, her mind had told her to give up several times and rest, but Torin had coached her through it, encouraging her to stop listening to the voice in her head. He’d told her to push out the doubt, and she had.
In a test of her endurance, he had upped her training level again. When they trained for combat, he made sure they focused on lethal blows.
All day, every day was weapons, runs, circuits, and sequences.
She noticed Torin cock his head to the side with an amused grin on his face. It had been the first time she had seen it properly in a while, and it was magnificent.