Visiting the Dojo [Open, tag dojo-types]
It was a bright, clear morning, the sort one would have hoped for if planning a long day of travel. Tarma was not intending to travel; she was, however, going to act on the advice she had been given, and visit the dojo. Her correspondent - Robin, had it been? - had suggested that she look for work there, and she was willing to take opportunities as she found them.
She was young, for a teacher, and that would go against her, particularly when she had not the reputation of the Shin'a'in to go before her. Their reputation here was what she made it, and in some ways that thought was troubling. Tarma did not, however, doubt her ability. The memory was too fresh in her mind of her return to Liha'irden, of the strange, out-of-place feeling she had when she realized that even their war-leader had nothing left to teach her.
She was Kal'enedral, it was to be expected. It meant, certainly, that she would not have any hesitation in declaring herself fit to teach the basics of swordsmanship or archery to outClan children.
When Tarma arrived at the dojo, she did not go immediately inside, but walked the practice-grounds. She needed a place to continue her own training, doubting very much that those who guided her would show her any leniency for having been away for weeks and not kept up with it. Although they, unlike everyone else, might have noticed her disappearance.
She chose a place there, a grassy open space outside the dojo, and began her own sword-work. At first, she swung the blade very carefully, quarter-speed, ensuring the technique was exact, a slow and graceful demonstration. As she worked through the set, gradually she increased her speed, by small increments so that even that had a natural, flowing quality to it. By the time Tarma had reached her usual pace, full-speed, an observer would almost have been able to imagine they saw the invisible opponent she fought. Her braids streamed out beside her as she turned, and her sword-strikes were very quick, and very precise.
It was a sequence she had performed countless times before, and Tarma focused on the minutiae, on having everything just as it should be. The familiarity of that concentration was almost relaxing to her. Here was something she could do, no matter where she was.
((OOC: Open to everyone, though I'd particularly like her to have a chat with someone who works at the dojo if you've got time to tag in. Otherwise - interrupt her (carefully!) or talk to her when she's finished or after she goes inside))
She was young, for a teacher, and that would go against her, particularly when she had not the reputation of the Shin'a'in to go before her. Their reputation here was what she made it, and in some ways that thought was troubling. Tarma did not, however, doubt her ability. The memory was too fresh in her mind of her return to Liha'irden, of the strange, out-of-place feeling she had when she realized that even their war-leader had nothing left to teach her.
She was Kal'enedral, it was to be expected. It meant, certainly, that she would not have any hesitation in declaring herself fit to teach the basics of swordsmanship or archery to outClan children.
When Tarma arrived at the dojo, she did not go immediately inside, but walked the practice-grounds. She needed a place to continue her own training, doubting very much that those who guided her would show her any leniency for having been away for weeks and not kept up with it. Although they, unlike everyone else, might have noticed her disappearance.
She chose a place there, a grassy open space outside the dojo, and began her own sword-work. At first, she swung the blade very carefully, quarter-speed, ensuring the technique was exact, a slow and graceful demonstration. As she worked through the set, gradually she increased her speed, by small increments so that even that had a natural, flowing quality to it. By the time Tarma had reached her usual pace, full-speed, an observer would almost have been able to imagine they saw the invisible opponent she fought. Her braids streamed out beside her as she turned, and her sword-strikes were very quick, and very precise.
It was a sequence she had performed countless times before, and Tarma focused on the minutiae, on having everything just as it should be. The familiarity of that concentration was almost relaxing to her. Here was something she could do, no matter where she was.
((OOC: Open to everyone, though I'd particularly like her to have a chat with someone who works at the dojo if you've got time to tag in. Otherwise - interrupt her (carefully!) or talk to her when she's finished or after she goes inside))