Aurora pushed herself harder. Her heart raced, pounded. Her anger was like a living force inside her, pounding through her veins, her skull, her chest, like it was trying to burn itself free.
How could Andor accuse her of giving up? Being weak... He had never had to work for anything in his life.From Aurora's point of view, Andor had always been good at everything he tried; swordsmanship, hunting, riding. He was born to be a soldier. Even his name meant “warrior.” He didn't understand what hard work meant. He didn't see how much blood and sweat she put into her training, how frustrating it was for her.
She ran until her legs gave up beneath her. Then she laid down on the forest floor and looked up at the sky, breathing heavily. Blushing pink and deep-sea blue painted the bits of sky that could be seen through the canopy above. The sun was setting. Mother would worry about her. Andor would tell her she was a baby for running away, but she couldn't bring herself to go home yet.
The cool night air felt good against her burning skin. Sweat had pooled between her breasts and down her back making her shirt cling to her skin uncomfortably.
The fight had been unfair. Andor had several years more training, more experience. He was taller, stronger than she was. Swords were his specialty. She would have beat him if it had been an archery contest or a footrace. He had even inherited Father's legendary sword, Elisar.
She sat up suddenly. The sword. If she had a sword like his than maybe she could beat him. She jumped to her feet and immediately started heading off toward the village where Sarzon, the smith, lived.