Kat #1 - Part A
[Author's Notes] I attempted to write this early on but realized I had no voice for Kat. I had always seen Kat through Tristan's eyes and only very recently did I come up with some of Kat's background. I'm contemplating writing Kat's story in first person, just to vary it but I think I won't. Since I've always seen Kat through Tristan's eyes, it might be more illuminating to write this in third. I hated what I wrote earlier - all three paragraphs. Anyway, I think I've come to a close on Section One, the introduction to the main character and sub-characters, the introduction to the school itself. Section Two will be Kat's story. It'll be a lot shorter than Section One but who knows, once I get writing I might add quite a bit more. I certainly didn't expect Section One to be 9 chapters long.
The heat surrounding Rorga was stifling but Katrina loved it. She could feel streams of sweat pouring down her as she lifted up the heavy sopping cloth she was washing. Glancing over at the boys, she could see them wiltering under the heat as they practiced stances.
Damnit, why can't Papa see that I'm better than boys? Her resentment grew as she thwapped the cloth with a bamboo racket, swatting out dirt. She looked over at boys and saw that they were practicing the spread stance. It was rumored that some of the old-timers could stand like that for days and the burliest of men couldn't knock them off the stance. She had heard and seen her father countless times yelling at the boys her age, then walking up to some and with a hard blow, knock them over only to have them stand like that for another four hours.
Looking around, she confirmed that no one was paying attention to her and she stood with her feet spread apart, knees somewhat together in emulation of the boys, then swatted the heavy cloth hanging in front of her. It was harder than it looked. After a few minutes, her thighs were screaming at her to stop but she continued for an hour. When she finally unlocked her legs out of that position, she could hardly move them.
Gathering all the washings she had done, she turned to leave but felt a heavy hand drop onto her shoulder. She looked up; it was Papa.
"Well, you looked a sight, Kitten," he smirked.
Katrina shuffle her feet sheepishly, then said, "I was just copying the boys, Papa. No harm done." She looked up at her gigantic father who towered over her. Strange that both her and her brother turned out to be rather scrawny but one look at their mother told everyone where the kids got their bodies from. Her father had graying black hair, tied loosely in a ponytail. His beard where his mustache met on either side were grey, the rest was black. Since he had been coaching the youngsters, his beard was tied together in a loose knot as well to keep out of his way.
"Come on, I'll give you a ride." Without waiting for an answer, he scooped her up onto his shoulders, his arms carrying the wet cloths easily. "Well, Kitten. You know Rorga's rules. We're not allowed to teach the martial arts to the women; however, next time? Don't spread your feet so far apart."
A hug around his head that partially obstructed his view, told Oliver that his daughter understood. It was really a shame that they couldn't teach Katrina. She had been a natural athlete since she was born, unlike his son Alexandrios. He loved to tell the tale of when she had been born, she landed on all limbs, then snarled at him. An exaggeration, to be sure, but there was something different about her. That was why he had chosen the name Katrina and called her Kitten. The feline grace had been with her since birth.
The heat surrounding Rorga was stifling but Katrina loved it. She could feel streams of sweat pouring down her as she lifted up the heavy sopping cloth she was washing. Glancing over at the boys, she could see them wiltering under the heat as they practiced stances.
Damnit, why can't Papa see that I'm better than boys? Her resentment grew as she thwapped the cloth with a bamboo racket, swatting out dirt. She looked over at boys and saw that they were practicing the spread stance. It was rumored that some of the old-timers could stand like that for days and the burliest of men couldn't knock them off the stance. She had heard and seen her father countless times yelling at the boys her age, then walking up to some and with a hard blow, knock them over only to have them stand like that for another four hours.
Looking around, she confirmed that no one was paying attention to her and she stood with her feet spread apart, knees somewhat together in emulation of the boys, then swatted the heavy cloth hanging in front of her. It was harder than it looked. After a few minutes, her thighs were screaming at her to stop but she continued for an hour. When she finally unlocked her legs out of that position, she could hardly move them.
Gathering all the washings she had done, she turned to leave but felt a heavy hand drop onto her shoulder. She looked up; it was Papa.
"Well, you looked a sight, Kitten," he smirked.
Katrina shuffle her feet sheepishly, then said, "I was just copying the boys, Papa. No harm done." She looked up at her gigantic father who towered over her. Strange that both her and her brother turned out to be rather scrawny but one look at their mother told everyone where the kids got their bodies from. Her father had graying black hair, tied loosely in a ponytail. His beard where his mustache met on either side were grey, the rest was black. Since he had been coaching the youngsters, his beard was tied together in a loose knot as well to keep out of his way.
"Come on, I'll give you a ride." Without waiting for an answer, he scooped her up onto his shoulders, his arms carrying the wet cloths easily. "Well, Kitten. You know Rorga's rules. We're not allowed to teach the martial arts to the women; however, next time? Don't spread your feet so far apart."
A hug around his head that partially obstructed his view, told Oliver that his daughter understood. It was really a shame that they couldn't teach Katrina. She had been a natural athlete since she was born, unlike his son Alexandrios. He loved to tell the tale of when she had been born, she landed on all limbs, then snarled at him. An exaggeration, to be sure, but there was something different about her. That was why he had chosen the name Katrina and called her Kitten. The feline grace had been with her since birth.
posted by resigned idealist @ 11/28/2004 04:58:00 PM
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