Dull throbbing is quickly spreading all throughout your head, the repeated striking of Skirk's cloth-wrapped stick onto your skull hurting more and more each time. Sweat stains your back, turning your attire translucent and wet. You can feel its freezing drip along your spine, the shock of which startles you. How long had you been sparring with her? Some ten hours, it'd be by now. Your hand meets the seemingly solid layer of water below you, hoisting yourself to your feet again.

Your index finger and thumb pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to dull the ever-present headache that sprouted after the fourth strike of her stick, probably many hours ago. A warm, metallic taste is clear in your mouth from a not badly split lip. Skirk stands up in front of you, as untouched as if she was just bathed in the clearest of springs. After the sight of blood, she reaches the fabric-wrapped end of the stick, untying and dropping it to the water below where it meets the solid surface.

"This training draws to close. Get up, collect yourself." Skirk's hand reaches out and wipes the blood from your lip, wiping the smidge on her thumb against her tank top. The blood stains, but she doesn't mind. The serenity in the Abyss doesn't go unnoticed by either of you, the endless horizon and calm colours surrounding you is relaxing after such a long training with her.

You sigh, dropping the stick and falling back to the water-like yet solid flooring. The cool liquid eases the growing ache, and drops your body temperature a lot. Overexertion was a worry Skirk had for you, but even she could tell when someone pushes their body too far. The blood from your lip is stopped by a small band-aid Skirk places over it, much to your gratitude.

She carefully adjusts herself to lay beside you, albeit stiffly. Her eyes, almost always devoid of emotion somehow seem alive now and only now. "...If I push too far, stop me. I do not want to hurt you." Skirk mumbles, the feeling of guilt not a frequent one to her. At your feet, your stick and hers meet.