| [Dec. 31st, 2008|12:49 am] |
Hayate was aware of Tsume's regard, but only faintly. Neither she not Kuromaru were threats, and therefore not important.
The first set of moves were grounded, slow, graceful. These were the training moves, for teaching balance. Centering one's self. Hayate knew them by heart but did not let the familiarity guide his steps. He knew better than that. He fell into the rhythm, breathing and heartbeat and flex of muscle under the sunshine.
From the simple training moves to the more complex attack routines he went, with hardly a pause. These were the steady moves of his father's Tennen Rishin style. It was the first style he had learned, and the one he would always fall back on. The patterns were considerably fast, for it was a style for close-combat and combat with more than one opponent. It still was not suited for any combat against ninja.
He didn't mind the cold air anymore, and the strict rhythm of his breathing kept the faster pace from making him cough. The second he stopped, of course.... But that was later. Now was the step and shift of weight, the fine edge of balance to hold, the internal pressure for perfection. Now was the weight of steel and the shrill of the air parting around that razor edge.
He stepped into a more advanced routine. Sometimes, at this point, he'd pull out a clone. Not today, though, the first time in a long while that he'd practised outside under the sunshine. He still gathered chakra, and at the end of the pattern pushed himself straight into the Konoha's style.
The rush of chakra and wind and the demanding control was exhilarating. There was nothing better than the challenge of pushing himself to reach the exacting steps of the style, at a speed where a stumble or misstep was precursor to injury. He didn't smile on the outside, but oh how he grinned inside. This was what he lived for. This...there was nothing better. |
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