An hour before the sun rose, a certain, black-haired swordsman was already up, making his way out of the village, his blade clinking quietly in its scabbard with every step. Once he made his way back to the beach, a ways away from the docks, he stops and takes in a deep breath, enjoying the tang of salt on the air from the sea. Looking around, he says to himself, "Well, this looks like as good a place as any."

Reaching over his shoulder, he draws his blade, the cool steel rasping against the interior of the scabbard. Holding the weapon in front of him with both hands, he closes his eyes and lets out the breath he took moments ago. He holds the pose for a few moments before, in a flurry of steel glinting with the early morning sunlight, he begins swinging at invisible enemies. Forehand, backhand, thrust...each move comes right on the tail of the last one, the speed of the swipes revealing his skill, despite his unfortunate spill the other day. Every swing, he takes a step forward, as if beating back an enemy.

An hour later, he returns his sword to its scabbard. Normally, after an hour, he'd still have barely broken a sweat, but practicing on the unfamiliar terrain, he had to put a bit more focus into maintaining his balance. Looking back, he looks at the prints he left behind, some of which were slightly askew, showing when he had momentarily lost his balance. "I'm gonna have to fix that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at his mistakes with disdain. "If I ever have to fight on a beach and I lose my balance, I'd be done for." Shrugging, he crosses his arms behind his head and starts back for the village, adding, "I'll take care of it later. For now, it's time for breakfast!"