Faux-Storm

Lujayn was just about ready to explode. He didn’t want to be here, and in his humble opinion, he didn’t need to be, but he had shown up anyways, with as open a mind as he could manage towards learning how to fight. He was a simple apothecarist, he took care of wounds and illness with the medicines he concocted. He had no desire to fight, to hurt another, and privately he had hoped that his teacher might understand that and let him off easy, but he had been prepared to accept it and do the minimum required to get through it. And yet, it was nearing noon, the sun almost directly overhead, and his teacher was not here. He had arrived