Celeste's breath escaped her in great, billowing waves.
Mist roiled every time she panted, a sheen of sweat coating her forehead and hands and causing her grip to slacken - the blade in her grasp almost slipping. The young woman wiped a stray lock of damp hair from her eyes, as she regarded her opponents, her lips pressed into a determined line.
Light snow fell from the heavens, blanketing her family's garden.
The figure standing on the left had a lithe frame, crimson hair tied into a braid, pale skin and a mole under her left eye. She was dressed simply, a white tunic peeking out beneath basic leather armour.
Beside her, Ivar stood with unassuming brown hair and brown eyes, a scar twisting the edge of his lips.
"You're making good progress, Princess."
Nara, one of her father's lieutenants and the woman with the braid, spoke up.
She held a similar blade to Celeste in her hands, keeping it aloft almost lazily.
