[You have witnessed a critical success, and gained 1 XP toward Staff Fighter.]
When the weapon you're practicing with is a dull gardening tool, messages like THAT catch your attention. The only problem is, we were children swinging lawn tools at sticks. Who…
"Yenqwa." I said, approaching him.
"It's not my fault!" he said, "I'm trying to put it back!" Crying, he held one of the posts in both his hands. Scarcely a forearm's length, for an adult, but it his hands…
"Do it again." I said.
"Do WHAT again?"
"Whatever you just did with the stick." I said. "I want to see it."
"What?"
I struck toward him with the flat side of my tool. Effortlessly, he blocked it. <1>
"You need to move your foot…"
He slapped me across the wrist with the stick, sending my trowel flying. "Stop poking me! Leave me alone."
"Hyurk." I said. What I meant, as one might guess, is "Please don't lift me off the ground by the neck. It hurts."
Ugh. Who knew working a mere twelve hours a day took so much energy?
Yes, and that's exactly why I'm trying not to complain; someone out there is going "twelve? Gods, I'd kill to work only twelve hours a day."
But, as life has piled normal life events upon me, I've been needing to write the next few chapters. This last one has taken me two days, and it's actually a little past my bedtime today.
But don't worry, loyal readers. YOU are the motivation that keeps me writing, even when all else looks hopeless.