[CENTER][h1][color=BFF4BE]Ynga[/color][/h1][/CENTER]
[sub][right][color=silver][color=BFF4BE]Location[/color] — The Grand City of Atutania[/color][/right]
[right][color=silver][color=BFF4BE]Interacting[/color] — [@Yankee][/color][/right][/sub]
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[indent][color=silver][color=5B6BBB]"Did [i]what[/i] hurt?"[/color]

Was she not clear enough for him? Or, perhaps, she had offended him by bringing up an uncomfortable memory. Ynga could only imagine how much it would have hurt to have one's skin burned enough to blacken like that. Her eyes widened at the notion that she might have called to memory such a thing, completely oblivious to her misunderstanding of the situation. No sooner than she parted her lips to free him from the obligation of answering, however, he spoke again, intercepting her concern before it could even truly manifest. 

[color=5B6BBB]"Never mind, do not answer. I have something more important to attend to."[/color]

Well, that certainly answered that! It made her heart ache just a little that conversation with her was not important enough to prioritize, but it had been she who had made the faux pas of bringing attention to the older gentleman's scars. Time apart would give her some time to come up with a suitable apology, and perhaps, away from the sting of her words, he might rally himself and be more willing to discuss his queer appearance with her. Or so she hoped.

If nothing else, she would have entertainment in the interim. The two initiates rounded into the sparring arena, and Ynga wasted little time hefting her minuscule weight up onto the fence that surrounded the hastily erected ring, settling cat-like onto a wooden beam set between two supporting posts. To hear it told, the combat arts of the southern kingdoms were as diverse as the appearances of their peoples. She hadn't the faintest clue where either of these young men hailed from, but watching them firsthand would allow her to better understand the styles of their respective homelands. If her grandsire were present, he would also stress to her the importance of memorizing what she saw to derive countermeasures, she was sure. The Nordavind patriarch could be a mistrustful man, but Ynga was positive she wouldn't have to bear her blade against those who also wished to walk the path of the Wardens.

... A fortune thing for them, she realized, as she watched the bout unfold. It was unfair of her to be judgemental, of course. There were bound to be differences between the types of fighting she had been drilled on by way of her grandfather's huscarls. Maybe sacrificing the advantage of reach with the spear was a hallmark of the southern peoples, instead bludgeoning their opponents with the blunt end of the shaft and letting opponents press themselves to its length. Perhaps the shield was taboo, among the more aristocratic warriors of the south, who cast aside their defenses to better display their chivalric spirit. She'd have to ask about that later as well. Hopefully, it would go over better than her initial inquiries.

Differences in philosophy aside, Ynga found herself thoroughly caught up in the magic of the clash, especially when actual magic entered the fold. She whooped from the sidelines as the paler of the two summoned forth a blanket of ice to encase his opponent's weapon, knowing well she would have struggled in kind to counteract that sort of ploy, her element being what it was. It'd be a good experience, testing her mettle against the mace wielder and his frosty sorcery. There was no shortage of ice-aspected warriors in her homeland, of course, but the methods of her people were less subtle than those employed by her would-be compatriot in the Wardens. 

As exciting as the match was, all good things eventually came to an end. An instructor called for the two to break apart from each other, and they seemed to do so amicably. With the bout having come to a close, a choice fell to Ynga: who to pursue next? The spellcraft of the pale man intrigued her, certainly, and yet the burnt man held his own mystique; he hadn't used a single instance of his magic in the entirety of the fight. Was he holding back? Afraid of revealing his tricks too soon, lest there be mock battles as part of the trials ahead of them? It was difficult for Ynga to hide her disappointment; she had come to Atutania to hone her sorcery in ways that could not be accomplished in Ienarich. Every opportunity to experience it here felt like a loss in its own right. So, when she spotted him making his way away from the arena, she was swift in hopping up to stand astride the fence. With a graceful leap, she landed atop each of the posts leading down its length, buoyed by an invisible force so each footfall she made was feather light, bounding from foothold to foothold until she was just about upon him. When she reached him, she leaped free from the fence and landed with all the grace of a crane, flashing a bright smile.

[color=BFF4BE]"You lost!"[/color] Her declaration came with the same chipper, sing-song tone she always used, as if the notion didn't bother her in the least, [color=BFF4BE]"But you probably wouldn't have, if you hadn't held back. You were pretty evenly matched until he used his magic! Why didn't you use your own?"[/color]

It hadn't occurred to her to ponder, too deeply, the reasons behind his restraint. She had considered holding something back for the trials, of course, but as she formed the words, an idea seemed to swirl within her mind. Bright eyes grew even brighter as she made the realization, and before she knew it, more words were spilling out of her, right on the heels of the ones before them.

[color=BFF4BE]"Oh! I know! You were probably worried about elemental incompatibility, weren't you? I completely understand! I'm wind-aspected too! But it's not as insurmountable as they make it out to be—you might not win in a direct clash, but wind is so versatile that we'll never need to just blast right through ice!"[/color]

Finally, some common ground to make up for their rocky start!
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