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Thhpp.

Tanarah’s fingers clasped and crimped, pinching the rocky ledge above her as her pulse thudded hard in her ears. New autumn air gusted around the cape, teasing up dust along the long stretch of the rocky cliff face before her, and when she exhaled, that, too, stirred up a puff of brown. Well over the height of fifty men below her, the ocean swelled and rocked against the shoreline. After sweeping her tongue out once across her bottom lip to brush off the sweat gathering there, she hoisted herself again, moving further up the stone precipice.

Her fathers made their disapproval of this stunt well known. Climbing, after all — particularly unaided and with no safety net at the heights she went to — was dangerous. Deadly, even. Or, it had the potential to be, certainly.

But Tanarah had no intention of dying.

She knew these rocks, or felt she did, and had been climbing them since a much younger age. With every year, she only grew more capable — and better equipped — to handle the territory: longer limbs, stronger muscles, and more practice. She learned the paths she could take to scale them, and experimented with new ones, testing which previously impossible feats became doable, and then easy, as her arms and legs reached greater distances. When she reached the top, grasping hard to the lip, dragging, and thrusting herself over, she immediately rolled onto her back, panting to catch her breath and grinning aimlessly towards the sky with her victory, eyes shut.

Then, she remembered the day.

She was supposed to visit with grandfather this afternoon. Spitting out a quick curse likely above her age bracket in terms of appropriateness, Tana scrambled to a stand, shunned her weakened limbs, and bid them to move. Move, move, move. She ran: down the great slope the even way, around the bend, over the sandy beach, past their house, and out, into the town proper, and from there, down the streets, weaving between people and carts and stalls until finally, she arrived at her grandfather’s door.

Wet with perspiration. Filthy. Hair amock, and clothes smeared with dirt, and all her limbs gelatinous with exhaustion—she lifted a hand to knock. “Grandpa…?” she called, opening the door and peering in barely a half second after the tap. “Grandpa, I’m here…”

“Hnnn—definitely,” Tana said around a pant, curbing the urge to — just for a moment — prop her palms on her knees. Instead, she straightened her stand and darted forward to grasp her grandfather in a tight hug, allowing herself to sink only a bit of weight against him as she gathered her breath. “I’m sorry I’m late. I got here as fast as I could.” ‘Once I remembered.’ “But you look like you—” She jutted a finger against his chest teasingly, “—just crawled out of bed. You weren’t sleeping, were you? Like a tired old man? It’s the middle of the daaaay…” She glanced about, leaning back a bit. “And where’s grandmama Valla?”

Tanarah gave an embarrassingly over-pleased sound at the gift of water, and proceeded immediately upon being gifted it to gulp it down with all the voracity of a starving horde presented with their first feast. Water had never tasted so fantastic. Frustratingly, it did not come in a limitless supply. When the cup ran out, she coughed and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, nodding. Seconds later, she was ‘darting’ up the stairs — or, as much so as she could convince her legs to cooperate, which translated into several hopped steps and then the dragging of lead feet for several paces before she could manage to hop another two.

Eventually, she made it to the top and washroom. After whetting her face, she wiped it clean of grime — or, mostly so — before sagging against the washtub for several moments and simply savoring the dampness. Then, rousing herself, she pushed back up, and started down the stairs again.

“Besides yours, what’s the best weapon shop in town, Granpapa?”

Tanarah snerked and reached over, batting a light punch against her grandfather’s shoulder.

“How am I s’possed to keep you on your toes, all alive and agile like, if I don’t even look at the competition, huh? Anyhow…” She shrugged, rolling her shoulders. “It’s not really a lot o’ business I wanna give anyone. I just kina wanna look. Tala chose her clan and…”

She hesitated. On the one hand, she didn’t want to seem overly eager or on the look out, but on the other, she knew that her fathers were still biding their time about when and how they might go about choosing their weapons, and she knew what she wanted. In theory. It wasn’t a given that she would find it, of course, but it never hurt to look, and something in her itched to go about it this way. Her grandfather was an expert, after all—a master warrior. And she was ready, she knew it.

“I just wanna take a look,” she said. “You ready?” She caught at her grandfather’s wrist, tugging lightly in encouragement. “Don’t tell me I’ma have to carry you to get you anywhere, you’re not that old yet.”

Tanarah’s eyes narrowed, squinting into slits at the initial slump of her grandfather’s weight against her. Letting out an airy and exaggerated huff, the corner of her lip quirked up. “Uhhuh, uhhuh, you lazy. I can do it. C’monnnnnn…gogogogo…” She reached back, hoisting his arms over her shoulders best she could and then pulling at him, much akin to a tiny tugboat or beast of burden attempting to tote along something multiple times its own weight.

By some miracle, they made it out of the house and into town. Once there, the fresh air and noise of the outdoors was at least momentarily distracting, and Tanarah spent some time hopping from stall to stall, attempting to convince her grandfather that they really needed to taste this, or that, or this, or oh, especially that before they made it all that far down the way. After her wild appetite had been at least partially sated, though, her attention turned back to the initial prompt that spurned her initially, and she glanced up towards her travelling companion, looping an arm through his and eyeing his face.

“So where’s that one place? The one that you said had all sorts, some of ‘em real old from other people.”

Tana curbed the urge to shoot a squint in her grandfather’s direction. Contrary to popular belief, she could behave herself. More or less. Sometimes. “I’m not gonna hurt myself…” she said, not expressly answering the question as they approached the shop. “I promise to be—”

When they stepped in, she trailed off, her eyes blowing wide and immediately darting about: wall to wall and then back again. When her grandfather had said there would be more than his shop, she anticipated something bigger, but never quite this big. She loved her grandfather’s shop, being familiar with every inch of it and how much he put into it all. It was a piece of home. This, though, was awe-inspiring in a different way. New. Vast. And so filled with variety her eyes couldn’t pick where to stay.

She darted over to one wall, leaning as close in to inspect as she could without immediately touching or disturbing anything. Mage staves of all shapes, sorts, and sizes: intricately carved twisting wooden ones, silvery metallic straight ones of varying colors, many enchanted—short, long, hefty, or willowy in variants. Axes of all widths, shapes, and makes. Maces, round or squared off, spiked or grooved or solid, some with barred handles, and others connected to chains. Bows and ranged weapons to fill a long stretch of wall and then some.

And knives.

And blades.

Hooked blades and long blades. Short swords and rapiers. Sabers, greatswords, and cutlasses.

Her fingers itched, and she tucked them into her pockets, almost glancing towards her grandfather, but not quite daring to breathe. “Grandpapa…how did you know when you found your weapon? The right weapon…?”

Tanarah blinked, opened her mouth, and then hesitated, nodding instead and then rubbing and pulling absently at her ear as she glanced over the selection again. She wanted to imprint. So very badly, she wanted to imprint. But she also wanted it to be right. It wouldn’t do to mess it up so early on, and then somehow end up with the ‘wrong’ weapon for the rest of her life.

What if her weapon simply wasn’t here? Or at the next shop? Or the next?

How would she know for sure, even if she spotted it, without touching…?

Her gaze moved over, and stalled, on a pair of blades: identical in shape and poised opposite each other, each curved so that together, they seemed almost to hook towards each other. Bronze in color, but with black, wrapped hilts and a blood-red gem stud at each base. Her pulse thrummmed, beating with latent, budding energy at the back of her throat, and she glanced surreptitiously towards her grandfather and the owner. Surely, she reasoned — her tongue flicking to run along the backs of her teeth in a nervous sweep — it wouldn’t hurt to touch just once. When she reached, her cheeks flushed, and when the pads of her fingers touched down, she felt a giddy ripple of anticipation.

Uncaring of the reaction at that point, she snatched out with the opposite hand, lifting both blades from the rack. Heavy at first, they sank in her grip, barely sustained by her strength. But then, like a buoy, adjusting to the depth of its surroundings and finding equilibrium, they both prickled with energy, glimmering for a moment, sizing down, and lightening so that, a moment later, they felt perfectly balanced to her grip. Tanarah could have been vibrating with the force of her excitement.

“…graanddpappppaaaaaa…GRANDPAPA! I found them!”

Tanarah beamed, grin so wide that it barely fit her face. “Are we gonna stop Grandmama’s shop still? And show her? And then Daddy and Papa—and Tala! And all my friends at school—” She paused. Well, perhaps it would be best not to bring the weapons to school, but she could still show them at some point. She bit at her lower lip, barely muffling another squeal of excitement before sheathing the blades, folding both under an arm for the moment for convenience’s sake, and dashing forward to catch her grandfather in a clinging hug. She buried her face against his chest. “Thank you, grandpapa…”

After a moment, she peeked out from him and around to the owner, offering him an abashed smile also.

“And you, mister…?” Stepping around, she stretched out a hand. “I’m Tanarah Fedele. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sorry for touching your merchandise without permission, but I promise, as long as I breathe, I’ll use these weapons as best as anyone ever has yet, do your shop honor, and in thanks for givin’ ‘em to me, I’ll tell anyone who asks exactly where I found ‘em. I’m in your debt.”