Not a game anymore

Sandra reminisced on her training. How at first, she played with the others with wooden sticks. The bruises she received and then the bruises she gave were purple and blue.

Then they put blunted swords into their hands and taught them how to attack and how to protect themselves. It was fun and a bit more than just sibling-like rivalry than drove her.

Now it was a game of life and death - one wrong move meant, at best, a mistake, at worst it could cost her a limb or more. And at eighteen, she already had scars to prove it.