The Salle, Friday Morning
He could not afford to grow lazy. Having slipped out of bed early, Leto now stood in the middle of the salle, the blades in front of him on the floor. He pulled his shirt over his head and flung it aside, then stretched out his muscles, forcing away any remaining sleepiness. With a swift movement he grabbed the blades and hurled them spinning into the air, where they separated, so that a total of seven deadly sharp disks were spinning, hovering in the air. Best not to overdo it today. He reached out for the knives, waiting for the attack.
The blades attacked him from all directions. He dodged and parries, avoiding their trajectories. There was no time for mistake; he had to know every part of his body at any given moment. Pushing his body to extremes, he felt that stillness of mind that came with this training. The spinning discs kept retuning until he had forced each one of them off its path, making it strike and get caught in a hard surface. Leto crouched on the floor, breathing heavily.
[Open of course. If you want to know what this looks like, check here.]
The blades attacked him from all directions. He dodged and parries, avoiding their trajectories. There was no time for mistake; he had to know every part of his body at any given moment. Pushing his body to extremes, he felt that stillness of mind that came with this training. The spinning discs kept retuning until he had forced each one of them off its path, making it strike and get caught in a hard surface. Leto crouched on the floor, breathing heavily.
[Open of course. If you want to know what this looks like, check here.]