Arlon showed him, spreading his legs a shoulder’s length apart and dropping his weight down. Garrett circled around him before he tapped his left thigh until Arlon moved it back and out. It put the majority of his weight on his front leg, and Garrett used one of his own to correct the position of Arlon’s back foot.
“That’s a front stance,” Garrett said before he tapped Arlon’s legs again until he moved them into more of an L shape. It felt awkward before Garrett tapped the back of hisknee until he bent it. “That’s a back stance. Now spread your legs a little wider than your shoulders. Good, now drop your butt down. That’s a horse stance.”
Garrett showed him how to step while keeping his stance, and together, they moved back and forth across the yard in steady, measured steps. Every time Arlon slipped out of his stance, Garrett would correct him with a gentle tap to the offending spot. They continued until his thighs burned, and it was only Arlon’s competitiveness that kept him moving right alongside Garrett until the lunch bell rang.
“This is… not what I expected… when you said you’d… give me fighting tips,” Arlon panted as he sprawled in the shade of the wall to give his aching legs a rest. It wasn’t terribly hot out, but his shirt was soaked all the same. Garrett sat on the ground beside him, and seeing how he’d barely broken a sweat, it was hard to believe they’d both spent the morning doing the same damn thing.
“You’ve been relying on raw strength, and it shows,” Garrett said. “You’ve got some bad habits to unlearn.”
“Is that why I’m so sore? You have to beat the bad habits out of me?”
Garrett barked a laugh. “I haven’t beat anything out of you yet. We’ll start that tomorrow.”
And they sure did. The next morning, Garrett showed him a range of arm and leg blocks that he drilled into him until Arlon had bruises coating his forearms and shins. But each bruise was a lesson learned, and being able to stop an attack made him feel like maybe he was actually starting to learn something.
It wasn’t until a couple days later, nearly a full week into the start of their new training regimen, that Garrett finally taught him some strikes. Nothing fancy, simple punches and kicks, but Garrett’s focus on good technique and form was amarked difference from the “instruction” he’d gotten from Vian and the other Wolves.
Garrett taught him how to keep a tight fist, what part of his hand and foot to strike with so he didn’t hurt himself. Garrett had him combine the simple strikes in conjunction with the movements he’d taught him earlier in the week. Moving with the right stance helped give power to the strikes, and all the time they’d spent ingraining the motions into Arlon’s muscles paid off.
With a solid foundation starting to form, Garrett slowly built him up as days turned to weeks. Trips, hip throws, shoulder throws, takedowns. Each new technique Arlon learned stacked on top of something that Garrett had already taught him. Then, one morning, after they finished their warmups, Garrett stood opposite of Arlon and motioned him forward with two fingers.
“Spar with me.”
Arlon stared at the bare-chested man in surprise. Even though this was the whole reason he had asked Garrett to teach him in the first place, he hesitated now.
“You sure?” Arlon asked.
Garrett smirked. “Afraid you’ll win? Don’t be.”
“Ass,” Arlon chuckled. “More afraid of you pounding me into the dirt again.”
“Valid fear,” Garrett said. “But we both know I don’t have anything to prove. I just want to see what you’ve picked up. Pull your strikes and kicks, and don’t aim for the crotch or head. This is a friendly spar.”
Arlon squared off with the man as he brought his fists up. “You saying we’re friends now?”
“Aren’t we?” Garrett asked before he lashed out with a side kick.
The question threw him, but Arlon’s hard-earned musclememory kicked in automatically. He blocked with a forearm before he sidestepped in to try and bring a knee to Garrett’s middle.
The man hooked one arm under Arlon’s raised leg before he tripped his other one out from under him. Arlon went down with a grunt and understood immediately why Garrett had spent days drilling falls into him. The impact rattled his bones, but it was Garrett’s weight on top of him that made old fears jolt to life.
Before that panic could even set in, Garrett was off of him, offering him a hand up. “That was a good block.” Arlon took his hand, a little stunned as the man pulled him to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder. “Want to try it again?”
“I—yeah. Sure.”
Garrett hadn’t been idly boasting. Arlon lost many,manymore times. No matter how strong of a stance Arlon adopted, how well he distributed his weight, within a few strikes, Garrett found an opening and got him on the ground with ease.
The fear of being overpowered dwindled the more it happened. By the time they stopped at the lunch bell, they were both a little more scuffed and bruised, and Arlon was too tired to be afraid. After the last takedown, Arlon stayed on the ground even after Garrett got up.
“You’re definitely picking things up,” Garrett said, and Arlon was satisfied that the man at least sounded a little winded.
“Where the hell did you learn how to fight?” Arlon asked as he tried to rub away the dirt that stuck to his sweaty arms. It was a losing task.
Garrett grabbed the waterskin and took a long sip before he said, “My mother taught me. She’s the best warrior my clanhas ever seen. Passed those lessons onto me whether I wanted them or not.”
“I’m seeing the family resemblance.”
Garrett chuckled and said, “You can walk any time you want. Or did you forget that you asked for this?”
