Children grow
Lucas pov.
Bright and early, three days later, just after Kendrick had cleared her for physical activity, she stood in the alpha's personal training room. Anywhere else would have attracted too much attention. Besides, being his beta, I had just as many privileges as he did over the room. It was a large gym with dark-colored mats spanning the entire area. There were several sections of the large room, mostly for different things: weights, the mat meant for fighting, the punching bag, treadmills, and other cardio equipment. We currently stood in front of the treadmill. The day was otherwise perfect, save for the huffing and puffing human that stood in front of me.
No words could describe how phenomenal she was. She had barely been running two minutes and she was already panting; she had slowed down twice and nearly stopped the third time. "Don't do it," I said, pushing her on until she started running again.
"What's the point of all this?" she huffed and puffed like a little wolf after a little Miss Piggy. "I'm supposed to—assertion of your strength? If you can't make a simple five-mile run then you are really weak."
"I can't," she said. "I already told you before—I can't do anything to protect myself. I am weak." She couldn't stand. Strangely, too easily, but I needed to see it through. "Finish it," I said, getting her back in the game.
So she continued running and puffing for about a full extra fifteen minutes, until she was practically walking, but at least she didn't stop. She slowed down from the five miles an hour she was doing to less than two miles an hour. At this rate I thought I might as well just be there for the next several hours. Eventually she finished, having collapsed. I couldn't help myself but laugh just after she was lying down.
"It's not funny," she said, huffing and puffing again.
Luckily Killian had made available some gym clothes for her, along with an entirely different wardrobe. She had pulled out a simple gym set, colored and black. The black did much to make more obvious her pale skin, making her look even paler. Finally, when she had caught her breath she stood up straight. "Are we done? You know, with the evaluation and stuff?"
"Yeah," I said. "Punch me." I instructed.
"No—are you kidding? I can hurt you." She burst out into laughter.
"God, it's been a while since anyone said anything that's that stupid. Hurt me?" I laughed some more. This one was a good one; I thought, "They're kidding me, right?"
"No, like you're seriously kidding me," she said. "I could seriously hurt you. I've been told I have a really good punch." She squeezed her hand into a tiny little fist, so small it was practically the size of a baby chick.
"I'll be the judge of that," I said.
"You can protect yourself from a rogue—what makes you think you can protect yourself from my punch?" I wanted to say, but I knew that would be a little cruel. "Come on." I raised a hand, giving her an easy target.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," she said with smugness. She raised her hand and, with all her strength, put her entire leverage into her shoulders and punched my open fist. I felt a small tap against it, as though a baby cat was gently pawing at me.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked.
"What?" She pulled back. "It hurt, didn't it? I don't like punching people at all."
I looked at my fist, then I looked at her. I opened my hand, perhaps somehow hoping that maybe it would be an aftershock, like one of those cursed techniques those wizards like to use. But I felt nothing. There was no aftershock—there was no anything. In fact, the feeling of her punching my palm had all but disappeared. She was kidding me, I thought.
"Okay. I'm humbled," I muttered under my breath. "You need strength," I said. "You're so weak—a chicken could literally knock you over."
She rubbed a hand over her chin, wincing slightly as I felt a bit of stubbornness grow through her. "You don't have to make fun of me, you know. I told you I'm human. I guess I, to some extent, should have thought about it—that I'm human and you're, you know, a furry and my punch might not, of course, hit their mark."
"Oh, you hit the mark all right. But you have no power in your punch. Then again," I said, pointing to the her shoulders, "if you want the punch to actually make any impact whatsoever you would have swung from your hips. You pivot on your feet and then, with all the power in your hips, you move forward; that way you keep yourself grounded—your center of gravity is stable. That shoulder thing you did?"
I tried to copy her and showed her what she had done, swinging just from the shoulders. "It's enough to get you injured if you're punching something a little stronger. But being that it was just my open palm, you're fine, I guess. Your form is wrong and your form is wrong because you have no muscle whatsoever."
"Of course I have muscles," she said. "How's using a—manages arrival of these years by myself? If I had none I'd probably be dead."
"Very good, you know what I mean," I said. "You have muscles all right—it's just enough to survive, not enough to actually thrive."
Her face changed at the sound of my words. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. A lot of things I didn't need to know until I came here. "You people are strange enough," she said, and flipped her head over one shoulder.
"Pack it," I said, pointing my fingers at her loose hair. "It's not practical in battle. You either cut it short or pack it away from your face. When in an actual battle, hair gets in the way. It flies into your face, it makes it hard to see, and then—" Her expression became pained and apprehensive.
Goodness, it was like watching a child.
“ What’s the worst part?” She had that overly sarcastic voice that genuinely made me want to pinch her cheeks. Jared, for another person, they might get angry, but it was easy enough to see that those snarky responses were only survival mechanisms.
She probably hoped that if she got you angry enough to reply to her, then she had gotten under your skin. It worked for most people, but it hardly would work for me, being that I knew exactly what she was doing.
I leaned closer. "She lost her head," I said.
She let out a gasp and reached one small hand to her slim neck and placed it around, almost as though she could imagine the gory sight. The witch’s long and lush strands got stuck in a bush. The bush was enchanted. And because she was stuck for too long, the scent of the flowers had rubbed off all over her. And then she lost her head. She let her guard down to its tusks and horns of a minotaur.
I’ve seen idiots do foolish things. Long hair during battle. I chuckled. Or the worst part was shiny armor. There’s a reason why armor should be dull—so the light doesn’t reflect on it. But some dumbass sorcerer thought it was cool. He was even swinging around a long staff in a tight space. The staff fell out of his hands, the armor reflected the light to his teammates, and all of them got killed.
“You think it was easier, right?” was on her face.
“Did you see any of it?”
“I saw most of it. The witch’s experience was quite comical. You’d think anyone would be smart enough not to put their long dresses in the way when they’re fighting a huge beast like a minotaur. Those beasts are intelligent and highly resourceful. So now would you at least put your hair away?”
She was quick in doing it. Somehow, she had tied it up in less than five seconds and it was out of the way.
“Let’s go,” I said. “If we can correct your form from there, then you should be able to throw a better punch later in the future.”
She let out a groan, took a swig of water from the bottle beside her, and followed me. The most basic of all exercises, to which she failed rather miserably. Once I corrected her form, however, the rest was easy. Adding twenty pounds on either side of a barbell was next. Her feet crumbled rather quickly and she fell. The barbell rolled over her in another funny manner. In the end, I spent most of the day laughing. I was unable to help myself. Even she knew that she was a walking, talking clown in the gym.