"No, sir, this size is perfect," he assured him. "I'm as thick as I'm going to get."
"But you were thin as a stick yesterday."
"I got better," he said with a mischievous grin.
"I don't think I want to know, so spare me the details," he said dryly. "With all the magical things that go on around here, I should know better than to ask anymore."
"Oh, what do you want me to do with the old robe?" he asked.
"Keep it," he said. "It'll make good rags if anything else. That's what I was about to do with it."
"I'll find something to do with it, sir," he assured him.
"Well, I won't keep you. I know they keep you Novices busier than a frog on a griddle. Have a good day, young man."
"You too, sir," he mirrored.
Tarrin took his clothes back to his room and put them away neatly in the chest. He took off the ones he was wearing and put on a set of his old leathers out of his pack, then picked up his staff and went outside. He debated where to do his practicing for several moments. It had to be an open area out of the way. But a moment of thought told him that the perfect place was that sand-strewn area he'd crossed the night he arrived. It even had several large posts driven into the ground, and was obviously a training field for someone, most likely the Tower guards. If nobody was using it, it would be perfect for his needs.
But it was indeed being used. A squad of young men wearing leather pseudo-armor labored on the field, swinging lathe-bundled practice swords to the barking command of a burly man wearing the plate armor of a Knight. Farther down the line, young men swung their practice swords at the wooden posts, and in another place they sparred against each other. About seven or eight other Knights prowled the field, correcting stances and giving instruction as they moved, or they supervised the sparring matches with a keen eye. Tarrin also noticed three robed Sorcerers standing to one side. They were obviously there in case of an accidental injury.
As Tarrin approached, he recognized one of the prowling Knights. It was Faalken. Dolanna had said that he trained students when not out with her. Faalken noticed him and trotted out quickly to greet him, his plate armor jingling as he moved. "Tarrin!" he said joyfully, clapping the Were-cat's paw in his strong hand. "Dolanna told me you were back. You look very well."
"I do now," he said ruefully. "I wasn't in very good shape when I got here."
"Yes, she told me. She said it wasn't easy on you."
"Not by a measure," he grunted.
He took notice of his staff. "Here to practice a bit?"
"I remembered seeing the field, but I didn't know if it would be used," he said apologetically. "I'll go find someplace else."
"Nonsense," he said. "You're more than welcome here. It's not often that we get to see someone other than Elsa use the Ways, anyway."
"Is she any good?" he asked.
"Let's just say that I've never seen a Sorceress thump so many heads without magic," he said with a grin.
"I'm not surprised," he said back. "She's from the Emden clan, and they've always been very good at the Ways. It's a matter of pride with them."
"Yes, well, just find yourself an open spot," he invited. "I hope you won't mind if some of us watch."
"Not really," he said.
Tarrin picked a small corner of the soft sand practice field and turned the staff over in paws several times, getting a feel for the changes. The staff seemed a little smaller to him now, and he'd have to adjust his grip on it. He started going through forms, very slowly, sliding from one to the next with a fluid grace and feeling the changes in leverage, the shifts in the grip he'd have to make, the adjustments to take his new height into account. His wide feet gave him more stability than before, and his Were-cat sense of balance and equilibrium was a definite asset. He worked through the same forms again several times, going faster and faster each time, until he whirled through the routine at blazing full speed. He almost dropped the staff three times, but his inhuman agility and speed allowed him to snatch it back before it got out of control. His huge paws made walking the staff over the back of his paw harder than it had been before, which meant he'd have to be more careful with grip-shift moves.
Tarrin began to sweat as he started practicing with some of the more difficult forms, slowly working himself into the changes the bite had brought about and adapting to them. He knew it would take more than just one day, but he was pleased at the amount of progress he'd already made after a few short hours of work.
He then started with the mixed move forms, staff moves that were accented with punches or kicks, even headbutts and several throws. He began to experiment, changing a punch into a claw rake or a stab with the pointed ends of his claws, changing a foot sweep into a tail-sweep. All in all, making such minor changes wasn't much of a problem, just very subtle changes to his stances or sets to take a broader swipe into account and such.
"Not bad," Faalken complemented as Tarrin stopped for a moment to gather in his breath. "I forgot how good you are with that thing."
"It's coming along," Tarrin told him. "I need to practice the hand forms. I think it'll be harder for me to use them that the staff now."
"Why is that?"
"Because alot of what they are depends on your strengths and weaknesses," he said. "All those are different for me now. I'll almost have to re-teach myself the forms. Weapons don't change like that. Well, sure, there are some things that are different now, but it's adjusting to the weapon. In hand forms, I have nothing to adjust to, so that changes it all around." He made a face. "If that makes any sense."
"I understand what you're trying to say, even if you're doing a bad job of it," he said with a grin. "Weapon forms are weapon forms, but your hand forms are more or less suited just for you. You're a different you now, so you need to use new forms."
"Exactly," he said. "What I already know is all I need. I just need to learn the new way to use them. I have these claws now, and the tail. I need to learn how to use them in a fight."
"Wise idea," he said with an outrageous smile.
"You," Tarrin said, shaking a paw at him. "It's good to practice again," he sighed. "I forgot what it was like. And I still want to beat my mother in a fight."
"I think you could do that now," Faalken observed slyly.
"I wouldn't cheat," he said in an outraged tone.
"How is it cheating?"
"It just is," he said after a moment's blank look.
"When are you going to give up that overgrown toothpick and use a real weapon?" Faalken asked.
"Like what?"
"Like a sword."
"I've used swords before. I don't like them," he said. "They're too crude."
"Crude?" Faalken gasped in feigned shock.
"Crude," he said again. "They have no style. Any fool can pick up a sword and use one."
"I'm glad you think so," Faalken laughed.
"And they're crude in using them as well," he added. "It's too easy to kill when you don't want to kill. With my staff, I have to make a conscious choice to deliver a killing blow. It's not as uncertain as it is with a sword."
"You just never learned how to control one," Faalken told him. "If you think it's that crude, then you have alot to learn about them."
"I do know how to use one," he said. "My father uses one. But then again, my father won't draw it unless he intends to kill, so there's no open area about leaving people alive as far as he's concerned."
"So…you consider it crude because you don't like it?" Faalken surmised.