<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> <html> <head> <meta content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" http-equiv="Content-Type"> <title></title> </head> <body text="#000000" bgcolor="#ffffff"> Here's part 8.  Got inspiration for how to execute this part while sweeping water off the roof this afternoon.  Heat exhaustion is great for inspiration. :D -LurkingWolf ___________________________              Paula was not sure how her father had convinced her to go back to training just two days after her change.  She knew that she had to adjust, but it seemed almost as though he was just trying to keep her away from him.  Things had not gotten much better since that first chaotic night.  While the physical blows had stopped, her father's eyes had a constant haunted look to them whenever he saw her.  It made her feel as though she was an intruder in her own home, and she had cried herself to sleep the last two nights.               Her mind was in conflict.  Everything that she had been taught by her father told her that her reactions to her change were unacceptable; true men pushed forward, gritted their teeth in adverse circumstances, pushed forward without showing weakness.  Any such argument had one fatal flaw, however, and it only served to complicate it more.  She was no longer a man, and never would be again.               She was still lost in her thoughts when DeMule called for her to enter the training ring.  She had no idea what was going on, but she stepped forward anyway.               "Paula, are you feeling all right?"               She nodded slowly, noting with bitter irony that her trainer had already adopted her new name.  "I'm all right, just distracted," she said.  Had Jack not been standing directly beside her, he would have missed the words carried by her weak, exhausted voice.  "What are we practicing again?"               "I want a few of you to get some more practice sparring.  There is no specific technique we are concentrating on, just defeat your opponent."  He looked at her again, certain that she was in no shape to fight.  "Paula, if you want you can return home.  I know your father sent you here, but I think you could use some rest."               "No, I'll be fine."  Paula finally raised her eyes enough to see her opponent.  It was another transgender, a young woman once named Mary who had taken the name Martin when he became a man.  He had preserved his fighting style from before, a flexible style that made use of the relative light weight of a short sword.  He gave what Paula could only call a sympathetic smile as she faced him, but remained ready as he waited for her.               Paula's weapon was still a long sword, even though it looked horribly out of place in her hands.  Just lifting it into a combat stance told her that using it was an exercise in futility, but she had to go through with it.  Her father had already lost a son.  Having his daughter throw away the things she had been learning for the past few years would just add insult to his already considerable injury.               "All ready?" Jack asked in a raised voice.  When both combatants nodded he took a moment to wait, then started the match by signaling with one hoof-like hand and calling "Begin!"               The match ended quickly.  Paula managed to fend off a furious opening flurry, but couldn't adjust in time to beat a quick sidestep and slash towards the throat.  Martin stopped his blade just short of its target, but the result was clear.  Martin had won without contest.               Jack shook his head.  "Paula, your technique is still good, but you're not moving the blade fast enough to keep up.  Try dodging a few of the blows.  Go again."               The next duel lasted a little while longer.  Paula blocked a good number of the first attacks, then managed to step aside when Martin moved forward to take advantage of an opening.  She tried to bring her sword up to exploit his momentary weakness, but found that her blade was too heavy to allow such a maneuver.  She managed to twist it into the path of another blow, but had to settle for bringing it back into a defensive position.  She gritted her teeth; she couldn't move her weapon fast enough to exploit holes!               Martin kept pressuring Paula, but she held her own.  Finally, however, Martin brushed her blade away and moved inside to finish the battle.  His footing suddenly slipped, and he fell against Paula gracelessly.  He struggled to gain his balance, but was pushed off of the young woman with great force.  He managed to stay on his feet, only to see the enraged face of Paula staring back at him.               He had accidentally landed against Paula's chest when he lost his balance, and such a sudden intrusion into her private space had sparked something in her.  She stepped forward, brandishing her sword with new zest.               Martin was terrified by the sudden change of face that Paula had undergone, and he swung his sword around to try to knock hers away.  She gave, letting him spin himself out of position.  She grabbed his wrist, twisted, and slammed the hilt of her own sword into his.  He released it with a cry of shock, only to have the breath knocked out of him as she drove the hilt into his stomach.  He fell over, staring up at her with panicked eyes as he tried to tell her to stop.  She raised her sword, and brought it down over his arm as it rose to turn the blow.  With a crack, the dull practice blade easily broke the bone, eliciting a choked gasp from the young man.  He fell against the ground hard, trying to cry out but still unable to find the breath.  As Paula raised her blade for another strike, he finally managed to say something.               "Please, stop!"  His voice was a half scream, and he watched, terrified, as the blow came down.               The strike never fell.  Another blade blocked its progress, holding even though the strike came down like a hammer's blow.  Paula's blade was then wrenched to the side, held in one of the trainer's large hands as he stole it away from her grasp.  She turned her fury on DeMule now, trying to beat at him with her fists, but he wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her too close for her to do any damage.  She continued to beat at him until the realization of her actions hit her, and then she fell into choked sobs, letting the trainer hold her in what she now realized was a comforting embrace.  She could no longer hold back the tears, and they flowed freely.               When next she could tell where she was, she was seated beside DeMule in a vaguely familiar chamber.  She slowly recognized it as Coe's infirmary.  The training master was watching her with a sympathetic look on his face, but it was a little while before she could bring herself to ask about Martin.               "He'll be fine," DeMule said before she could ask the question.  "The broken arm will be an inconvenience, but he'll recover."               "I'm sorry for what I did," she said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.               "I know you are.  I saw what happened during the battle, but I was a little slow getting to you.  Don't worry; Martin knows what you're dealing with, I'm sure he'll forgive you if you give him some time to heal."               "What am I supposed to do?" Paula asked quietly.  "I can't even use my sword like I used to.  I have to use so much more effort just to move the blade...  How can I expect to fight like this?"               "Paula, you've been given a new form by the Keep.  Every person here has had to go through similar things, and everyone has had to adjust.  Before you changed, you fought with a long sword because you were strong enough to handle it.  Now, you'll have to find something that your form can use more efficiently."               "My father won't let me!  He insists I train this way!"               "Paula, your father is a craftsman.  He uses different tools for different purposes.  He has tools for fine details, and tools for less detailed work.  If he had to do a detailed design, he wouldn't use the second tool, because that is not its purpose.  He will understand that you have to change, because you aren't suited for using a long sword anymore."               Paula looked at DeMule, unsure of what to say.  "Do you really think he will understand?"               DeMule smiled.  "I'm sure he will.  Both of you will have to adjust, but you'll pull through."               Paula took a few deep breaths, trying to settle herself.  The memories of attacking Martin were still vivid in her mind, but she tried to push them back.  It was over now; she couldn't let her failures distract her.  She managed to smile to DeMule, even though the pain remained even in that gesture.  Still, the few words he had spoken to her had given her hope that she would be able to survive.  She was truly grateful; now she simply hoped that her father would be as understanding as DeMule seemed to think. !DSPAM:4df835f8183511804284693! </body> </html>