His head turned toward the noise. Ash crouched closer to the vinyl tiles. Two minutes. He smiled crookedly when Saul came into view.
“Ashland Thoms, long time, no see,” Saul chuckled lowly.
“Saul,” he nodded, his smile still intact. “Shall we dance?” They circled each other carefully, each foot placed in cautious motion.
“Ash, you’ve become a tad sloppy,” Saul admonished, and the trance was broken.
Each flung themselves at the other, hoping that the sword tip might hit its target.
Both Ash and Saul fell with a brief cut on their collarbones. Saul’s face stayed surprisingly calm, while Ash’s contorted with anger.
Here they were, master and teacher, locked in defiant gaze. The kitchen would likely be damaged beyond repair when they had finished, but it was a risk they were mutually willing to take.
“So, it continues?” Ashland breathed, pushing away his dark hair.
“Aye, it does.” Saul replied in a distinctly feminine voice.
“Savari?” Ash almost choked.
“Who else but me?” She asked with a smile.