Their swords met like two shards of pain that lanced across the courtyard. The resulting metallic ring sounded out across the stonework, awakening the attention of several eyes and ears. Some smiled as they saw the darling of their world - the Matriach’s daughter, Celandine - fighting against her biological body, but one smiled just for him. Tarrimar, leaning against the wall, with his legs crossed, eyes filled with stars.

Celandine had certainly gotten better in the few months she had now been living with them. Every footstep was placed carefully, following as close as possible his own. Her eager eyes kept on his movements, attacking when he did and ducking, though sometimes a second after if it meant she would not be hit. Together they danced, father and daughter, she showing him so many basic techniques learnt from teachers, books and from simple watching.

And he was proud of her. He bore his long deep blue knife against her half-size scimitar. They kicked and flicked and parried together, the five year old against the fifty something (even he was not sure anymore). It went on for some time before Celandine's little body gave up. She was smaller than him, had less energy and she had to eventually stick her hands up.

Then slumped backwards on the ground onto her tiny backside. She looked up to him with big eyes and a even bigger, though tired, smile. Her chest heaved and she dropped down her scimitar to let out a sigh.

“That was good, Mr Vaeron,” she said with a light breathlessness “Fun.”

The man looked at her a moment before nodding and sliding his dagger, also known as the Kraken, into its sheath at his belt.

“You're getting better,” he told her.

She nodded. “I learn fast and Lady in the dreams helps.”

Vaeron paused and raised a brow, as he observed her. “... Lady?”

The little faun nodded, reaching and pointing at a waterskin. Someone, who knew who but it was not Vaeron or Tarrimar, probably a devoted fan, got it for her. Celandine took a long drink.

“Lady my my dreams. In the green dress. She tells me things, they come true.”

Vaeron blinked. Then he sighed a little. Running a hand through his hair he looked down, knowing then that it was true. He had suspected for some time, heard the rumours. But never once had he brought it up with Philomel and never once had he heard Celandine talk about it. The idea of a prophetic gift in one so young was astounding, and confusing and practically unheard of. Vaeron had been so cautious about it that he had put off asking anyone until …

Well. Until now that he heard it from her own lips.

“I see,” he said, and he watched her drink thirstily, before she took a moment and got back to her feet.

“Again!” she suddenly said, newly bursting with life. She grabbed her scimitar. “Again!”

“But we just went. You have received energy back again?”

Celandine blinked and looked down at herself. Then she shrugged and nodded. “Yes,” was her answer.

She gave no more description before she lunged at him again.