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The morning was spent underneath the shade of an aged valley oak. You had prepared everything you would need for today ahead of time-- you had brought a checkered blanket and a basket, both lunch and dinner (sourced from a nearby market), and enough water to fill a bathtub. As you shielded your eyes from the blazing sun above you, you wondered if even <span class="mu-i">that</span> would be enough for the next few hours.
Yet, as you took in the late-summer wilderness around you and felt yourself beginning to perspire... you couldn't help but feel grateful that you were no longer in Sacramento. The city wore on you the longer you waited-- the longer you anticipated tomorrow.
So, you moved your mind elsewhere. You drew your fingers to a small figure, resting within your shirt pocket, and carefully wrapped them around its bulging head.
Florian squeaked, his eyes blinking and his head tilting as he came to life in your palm. Your eyes briefly looked past him, to Mary, then returned to the sprite eyeing you with confusion. You hadn't given Florian too much attention as of late-- in all this combative hubbub, it was easy to overlook the least offensive member of your party.
Today, however, that was going to change! Though you were apprehensive about bringing a child to what could very well become a battle, you felt it would do him well to prepare for anything. Whether Florian joined you or was left to fend for himself, it wouldn't hurt to give him a means to fend for himself.
Your first thoughts were with Taylor. He could shoot leaves from nowhere-- razor-sharp leaves, no less, that could cut through cloth. Given Florian's similar sensibilities, you wanted to see if he could copy such a technique.
"Taylor, shoot!" You commanded, and Taylor followed suite. An array of leafy darts left his collar.
You asked him to repeat this a few more times, making sure Florian saw every single occurrence. Then...
"Florian, shoot?" Your tone faltered somewhat, but you made the same gesture. You saw Florian's eyes grow wide, clearly understanding... but, when he attempted to throw himself forward and copy Taylor appropriately, nothing happened.
You kept at it for nearly half an hour, attempting to translate the technique in various ways-- 'razor,' 'fire,' 'copy.' Differences in phrasing did nothing; differences in gesture, neither. You could tell, however, that Florian grasped your intent... he just couldn't follow through.
So, instead, you changed course. You mimicked Taylor yourself-- attempted to toss leaves, mimicked their movements. Again, Florian understood-- but he simply could not copy either of you correctly.
Eventually, once the sun began to wear on you, you admitted defeat and resigned yourself to a routine session of training.
