Chương 30: Vol 1. Training Near the Pool

Korra's breath was ragged. She moved with grace and speed. She advanced in short, measured bursts, cutting high, dropping beneath an imagined counterstroke, then pivoting to strike the dummy's exposed flank. Her movements were precise; her movements purposeful; strategic; logical. She panted; her long tongue lolled and dripped saliva onto the grass. She was crouched now, with her legs stretched and her left arm bent.

Then she bolted forward, cleanly sliced across the torso of the training dummy with the faux sword, rolled, and sliced again. She rolled backwards, jumped, sliced, and did this again and again. She ducked under a heavier weapon, grabbed a wooden knife from her side and stuck it in the neck, then bounced backwards, slipped, and attacked a taller dummy's exposed flank. Her right eye felt strained. It had taken her years to relearn how to fight with her missing depth perception and peripheral vision.

She could sense something was on her blind side, and she turned, blocked the hanging wooden arms, then kicked the dummy down and repositioned herself in the middle of the crowd of onlooking training dummies. As she dipped down and sprang up for another knife attack, she felt an old injury on her leg begin to bother her, the scar throbbing and shouting like an old woman on her porch telling the neighbourhood kids to knock it off. Still, she persisted, continuing to go through the motions.

She felt her grip beginning to slip. The sword seemed to be growing heavier with each passing second.

"For the love of the Dual-Gods," she muttered. On one attack, the pain in her injured leg became too much, and she buckled upon landing. After tearing the grass with her claws as she caught herself, she quickly regained her composure and kept attacking. Her breath grew more and more ragged, the huge breaths ruining her timing. Eventually, she had to stop and take a quick rest. Her chest moved up and down rapidly. It was very hot that day, unusually so for a spring afternoon. Korra groaned.

It felt far more like a midsummer's day than it did an early spring day. She looked at the dummy in front of her. It was in the shape of a Kharani, readied in a battle stance, and it looked at her with a coy smile across its potato-sack muzzle. Someone—almost certainly Kurik—had painted eyelashes around its button eyes.

She spat on it and said, "May Seroth drag your soul down into the deepest, darkest pits of—""You know," Kurik called out from the pool, "I am pretty sure the dummies aren't competing, so you should go a little easier on them." She began to swipe at it furiously, pushing through the exhaustion. Korra was not truly that old, especially compared to her mother, but she was twenty-six. Another ten years, and she would be in a wheelchair.

She was beginning to stumble into the age when old injuries stopped sleeping, joints stiffened, and every hard landing demanded payment. Oh, and she hated it. It wasn't just her age; it was everything: that old battle injury that blew out her knee, as well as numerous other injuries she had accumulated during her youth, the constant stress that was beginning to dull the fine hairs of her fur, poor sleep thanks to their cub…

it all accumulated, making her training not nearly as impactful as it would have been even four years prior. And she really hated it. As she attacked the dummy, she thought of her mother; she thought of those wealthier royal families treating them as the royal brutes; she thought of the humiliation of returning home defeated; coming home to Kurik and their cub, feeling like less of a woman in their eyes… Her leg hurt to the point that she was quivering. She ignored it. She looked upon the dummy's grin.

She hated that grin. She hated, hated, HATED— She hit the dummy so hard that it flung backwards, rolling across the grass. Taking a deep breath, she collapsed onto her knees and dropped her sword to her side. Her breathing became harsh and gruff. She squeezed her remaining eye shut as she dug her claws into the pads of her paws. Blood dripped onto the grass. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"Whoa there," Kurik called out.

"Maybe it's time for a break? You don't want to hurt yourself, do you?" Korra slowly turned her head. Her ears perked against her will, and her tail went rigid. Kurik was leaning over the side of the pool, his fur glistening in the sun, and his bare pecs exposed. Korra couldn't help but feel a bit of heat pool low as water beaded across his sizeable chest and trickled through his fur. Kurik leaned his chin against one paw. Korra said nothing for a moment; she stared blankly at her bare-chested husband.

"See something interesting?" he cooed. Snapping out of it, Korra bared her fangs and said, "No, no, I must continue; I can't stop until it is time to leave for the Coniton. I still have time."

"Not that much," Kurik said.

"We are still a decent way from the port. It is better to leave sooner rather than later, to get everything settled."

"Which is why I must continue training until the last moment!" Korra exclaimed, standing up. Kurik giggled. Korra cocked her head.

"Is… something funny to you?"

"I'm sorry, you're just so lame right now… just so mannish."

"Mannish?" Korra said.

"How dare you! I am your knight in shining armour, am I not?"

"Well then," Kurik cooed, "why doesn't my knight help me out of the pool?" Korra obliged, putting out her paw and clasping his. She yelped. Kurik pulled back, and Korra tumbled into the pool, splashing water high into the air. Kurik let out a boisterous belly laugh—soft, low, and masculine. Korra resurfaced, her training clothes soaked and skin-tight. Her muzzle twisted into a snarl that radiated ire, fangs bared. Kurik continued laughing. Then he abruptly stopped, his eyes wide as Korra tackled him.

The two began to wrestle, shoving each other this way and that until Korra managed to pin him against the pool's edge. Korra stared at him, taking in how adorably alarmed he looked, then let out a little giggle, let go of him, and sank into the water.

"You know," she said, "I honestly do not know what would happen if I lost."

"You will come home to our cub."

"Maybe…" Kurik placed one paw on her shoulder.

"You are speaking as though House Seran will cease to exist if you lose."

"It may as well," she muttered.

"Then I suppose our cub, our estate, and your awesomely gorgeous husband are all just decorative." She gave him a reluctant chuckle, then sighed, giving her husband a reluctant little smile and an ear flick. Kurik turned towards his wife. He grinned, flicked his ear, and extended one paw, wiping wet fur away from her remaining amber eye.

"I always loved the colour of your eye."

"Do you wish there were two of them?"

"Never." Korra gave his forehead a kiss, then clasped her hands around his waist and brought him tight against her bosom. Their tails curled around one another beneath the water. Kurik leaned forward and gently rubbed her injured leg.

"Are you scared, my Korra?"

"Yes," she softly admitted.

"Of what?" She looked at him deeply, lovingly.

"I do not fear being injured or killed."

"I know." Silence.

"I can endure being struck," she whispered.

"For Seroth's sake, I can endure losing another eye. I do not know whether I can endure coming home feeling as though I have failed my entire bloodline."

"You won't," he murmured against her ear, his voice deliberately low and sensual.

"Win or lose, you will always be my strong, rugged wife who wooed me with her pure strength all those years ago." Her wet fur bristled. They began to lick and kiss and touch each other, and Korra placed one paw against his stomach and made her way beneath his swimming garments—"Um… my lady?" Korra slowly turned towards the voice with a stern look that silently said: Are you fucking serious?

"What is it?" she growled.

"Um…" The servant's ears drooped.

"My lady, someone is requesting your presence."

"Who?"

"Someone claiming to be of House Orien." Korra cocked her head incredulously.

"Why would House Orien wish to speak to me?"

"I do not know, m-my lady. I know that he appears to have proof of his identity."