Willow pulled off her jacket, leaving just her tank top and shorts. She waved her arms dramatically, as if she were about to do something spectacular. Sylas crossed his arms, watching her with a look that said he was deeply entertained but trying hard not to show it.
"So, first..." he began, the corner of his mouth twitching, "you have to work on your stance."
She blinked at him. "Go on," he prompted.
Willow tried to mimic a fighting stance, clenching her fists like a boxer, shoulders stiff and legs uneven. Her lips pressed into a nervous smile that screamed, I have no idea what I'm doing.
Sylas tilted his head. "You should relax, Willow."
With an exasperated sigh, she dropped her arms and stood upright again. "I don't think I can do this," she muttered, frustration written all over her face.
He studied her quietly, his expression softening, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why do you want to learn combat?" he asked.
