Creative Writing: Beowulf

“Impractical?” Hennit took the lapel of her red tunic, embroidered in gold and blue, between his fingers. He rubbed the soft fabric and gave her an inquisitive look.

“That's different, I don't wear this to fight.”

Hennit shook his head, “no difference, fight, sail, eat, love, all practical, all impractical.”

Kiennan thought about what he said. She watched him turn back to look out over the railing. She stepped up to the railing and braced her hands against it. “I don't understand,” she admitted.

Hennit chuckled, “your coat is quite beautiful, but it keeps you warmer and marks your status. My fighting is . . .” Hennit gestured with his hands, it looked almost like he might break into dance, but he was searching for the correct word. “It is not as rigid as what I've seen from soldiers like you, it is an expression of me and my people.”
“I'm not a soldier.”

Hennit dropped his hand onto her upper back. “I mean warrior, fighter.”

Kiennan paused. “Could you teach me to fight like that?” She perked up at the thought.

Hennit took a deep breath through his nostrils. Kiennan looked over to see him contemplating. He took his hand back and tucked his smooth chin in it. He started to shake his head. “We have little time together, very little, and you need strong muscles, ones you likely don't use. Months to start learning.”

Kiennan’s shoulders slumped. She nodded when she looked back out to the