The more she swung, the more she found it making her feel better. Her legs, her back, everything was sore, from being thrown around by Jasper, from the longest ride of her life, taking her from her home. But she didn't care. She fought through the pain. Gripping one end of the stick, she swung it heavily, wishing it were into Jasper's dark, grinning face. Every time she did, the weight of it, and her poor stance, pulled her forward and off balance. 

Swing after swing, careless step after step, and she was huffing and puffing, hunched over, resting on the stick, laid across her thighs. She half heard Asher's words, but needed one last thing. She let out a feral, loud yell, just to vent her raw frustration and pain. When it was over, she closed her eyes, took three deep breaths. Then she opened them and looked over at her new master, feeling a bit better. She considered his words, wiping the sweat from her brow.

He was a Swordmaster after all, he probably knew what he was talking about. Part of her, a defiant part, wanted to spit in his face and say horrid things to him, for ripping her from her life, for killing those she loved, for destroying her home. She just wanted to hit him with the damn stick, and it was probably obvious as her eyes hardened toward him, her grip tightening on her stick. 

But she didn't. 

She may not have had much interaction with him, but she could tell he was trying to do right. He could've left her to the horrors Jasper and that other man had planned for her. He could've joined in. Or just left her in the ruin of her burnt home. But he took her in, and even though she's a slave, he'd treated her well so far.

She relaxed her aggressive posture, at first just nodding at his request, holding her staff defensively. [color=bc8dbf][b]"Yes, please."[/b][/color]