Swing—
Slash—
Crack—
Link holds his sword in his left hand and his shield in his right, swinging the blade with practiced motions. The bark of the tree upon which he is practicing is already far gone, collecting in a pile in the snow. With every blow, the tree cracks, the wood splinters, and the sword vibrates in the hero’s hand. He hops left and right between every third or fourth swing, avoiding imaginary bokoblins and bulblins. He rolls to the side and swings upward, imagining a darknut about to swing and—
Click—
During his roll, Link loosened a small stake in the ground—the only thing anchoring the piece of rope he’d set up. When the stake is freed from the frozen soil, the rope whips and moves as one of the tree’s branches begins swinging towards him. The Hylian quickly does a backflip, using his sword and shield to steady himself as he lands. The branch narrowly misses him.
He sheaths his sword places his shield on his back, breathing heavily from the training.
