This is a short piece i wrote today, not sure how it reads but all crits welcome.

WC

Rite of passage.

As the sun drops below the horizon, the bonfires in the centre of the compound are lit, their flames licking towards the heavens as thunder-like drumbeats begin to fill the air. Sheltering in a crude wooden shack at the far end of the compound, a young warrior runs a whetting stone down the already ice slick edge of her blade. She listens to the howls of her fellow shape-shifters, mingling with the now frantic sound of the drums. Reaching a thrashing climax the noise of the drums swiftly fades away to be replaced by the soft, sad sound of panpipes.

 
As Sasha carefully slides the blade back into its sheath the commanding voice of the tribal lore-master carries over the music's haunting melody, carrying the minds of all who listen back through the years to the beginning of time as he recites the tale of her people's beginning.
 
"They will be ready for you soon," her mentor whispers from just outside the doorway, "are you prepared?"
 
"I think so?" Sasha mumbles, her fingers reflectively stroking the small piece of jade set into the handle of her blade.
 
"You think so?" Tor hisses hobbling into the room his damaged leg dragging behind him as his staff thuds against the hard earth floor with each step, "You'd best be damn sure before you stand before the council."
 
"I will be," she replies in a voice that is little more than a whisper, "I'm just a little nervous."
 
"There's no need to be," he soothes, the expression on his face easing into mild concern as he leans his weight on his staff, "I've taught you well. This is no more than a formality."
 
"Unless someone challenges me," Sasha reminds him, "and we both know that Ivan will."
 
"Perhaps," he concedes, turning away from her, "but if that is the will of the Spirits, you know what to do."
 
"Yes, Lord," she answers, her voice steadier, as she grips the handle of her weapon, "that I do."
 
When the time comes and the moon is at the zenith of its arc through the cloudy sky, the clear sweet voice of a single hunting horn sounds, and Sasha walks alone towards the centre of the compound. Passing through the swirls of sweet smelling grey smoke, she once again touches the protective talisman on her sword hilt in an attempt to ward off the ill omen of rain threatened by the cold damp air.
 
Personally, Sasha doesn't believe in omens, preferring to believe that her fate is, as of yet, undecided, but she also knows that the council of elders place a great deal of faith in such things and that a storm on the night of the great rites would be seen as a very ill omen indeed. The crowd parts like a curtain to allow her clear passage to the raised wooden dais where the council are seated awaiting her arrival. As she moves forward, the crowd falls back into place and Sasha struggles to suppress a tiny shudder as she realises that she will either leave this circle as an adult or a corpse. Stopping a spear thrust from the council, Sasha takes a deep breath holds up her head and pushes back her shoulders: Tor told her appearance is an important tool, so she wants to look as strong as possible as she begins.
 
"I'm Sasha Rivers," she announces, her voice sharp a challenge to those in the crowd who mutter and stare; "Daughter of Bor Rivers and I come here today to claim the right of adulthood."
 
Everyone knew why she was here, and yet Sasha notes a collective gasp escapes the crowd as council leader Acelin stands from his chair. He stares long and hard at her, and Sasha feels as if his soft blue eyes, so out of place on his hard grey haired face, are seeing beyond her taught muscles and devil-may-care attitude. At that moment it seems to her as if he can see straight into her soul, see that she is still the scared girl she was two seasons before when Tor had taken her under his wing, but as he speaks, it seems he has seen nothing of the sort.
 
"You feel you are ready, child?" he asks, his voice soft and confident, knowing that no one will dare speak over him.
 
"I do, Lord," she replies, careful to loose the sharpness from her voice, but none of its confidence.
 
"So be it," he replies his eyes scanning across the compound, "are there any persons here who would challenge her right to be known as an adult?"
 
For a moment, the world is so still that it is almost as if time has stopped, but then the unmistakable rasp of a sword leaving its scabbard sounds and a familiar voice declares, "I challenge her right."
 
Turning her head, Sasha sees Ivan step from the crowd, a naked weapon held in his right hand. "I challenge her right," he repeats making his eyes on the dais.
 
"On what grounds?" Acelin asks, his tone even, his eyes cold and unreadable.
 
"She is not fit to be one of us," he spits, finally turning his head to face Sasha, "She is the bastard child of a disreputable bloodline, trained by a used-up old cripple, and I doubt that there is any pack present who would take her as a member."
 
"I would," speaks up a soft female voice, as Sasha grips the hilt of her weapon tight.
 
Turning her head, Sasha watches a striking woman step away from her pack and bow her head to the council before glaring at Ivan.
 
Both the woman and her pack are strangers to Sasha, even their emblem of three claw marks over a full moon is strange to her, but it seems she and Ivan know each other, because when he next speaks his voice all but drips venom.
 
"I'm sorry, Kay," he laughs, "I meant to say any proper pack wouldn't have her. I'm sure she'll fit right in with your misfits."
 
For just a second it seems as if pitched battle will break out between the two packs as weapons are drawn and insults called, but that all stops when Acelin draws his blade and rams the point into dais with a thunderous crash.
 
"Enough," he roars, in a voice that reminds people of exactly why he leads the council, "this is not the place for your bad blood! Which pack the girl joins is a matter for after the rite of passage."
 
"Yes, Lord." Kay replies, sheathing her weapon and returning to her pack.
 
"Now," he continues, returning his glaze to Sasha, whose hand has begun to tremble as Ivan's words play over in her mind, "You can still walk away."
 
"No, my Lord," she replies, picking her words carefully, "he has insulted my family's honour, and despite the mystery surrounding my father's death, I will not stand for that."
 
"What mystery?" Ivan sneers, pointing the tip of his needle-like blade at her.
 
"No one knows what happened the day my father died," Sasha replies, the hairs on the nape of her neck standing on end.
 
"We know the sacred ground he guarded fell," Ivan retorts, "and we know he died with wounds in his back. So we know enough."
 
"Enough," Roars Acelin, "as challenged party the girl may choose weapon and form. Let us get this over with."
 
"I choose single blade combat, and restrict us to human form." Sasha growls, drawing her blade and raising the talisman to her lips. "So we fight for first blood or to the death?"
 
"I shall neither ask for, nor give quarter," Ivan replies, raising his blade and advancing.
 
The first strokes of any duel are normally light, half-hearted, more designed to test an opponent than to do any damage but each of Ivan's thrusts seems designed to perforate Sasha's heart. Watching the firelight glint off the tip of her opponents blade, Sasha waits for each thrust before parrying with her own blade as she steps away. Repeatedly, she parries his lighter blade with her own as she steps away to safety, on some thrusts, she tries a counter swing but none of these come anywhere close to the rigid leather of his jerkin.
 
So mostly, she watches the way he slides his blade away from her's whenever they collide, unwilling to risk his light blade against her heavy sword. The crowd cheer every movement of the fight knowing that they are seeing a fine display of swordsmanship, but as Ivan's thrusts slow in pace, and Sasha's blocking becomes more erratic, they begin to bay for blood.
 
Sensing that the time is right Sasha pretends to loose her footing and falls backwards, and when Ivan sees the opening in her guard, he thrusts with all his strength realising too late that it's a ruse, as Sasha steps to one side her blade singing through the air towards his neck. Everyone gasps as, at the last second, she diverts the killing blow sending the blade across her opponents cheek instead of into his jugular.
 
"That," she sings dancing out of striking distance, "is for referring to the bravest warrior I know as a used-up old cripple."
 
"I'm going to gut you like a fish," he roars, blood pulsing through the fingers of his left hand as he tries to stem the bleeding.
 
"You can try," Sasha smiles, raising her blade to the guard position her fears and doubts washed away by the indescribable joy of battle, "but if you don't stop with the insults I'll have to leave you even more useless to your woman than you are now."
 
As Ivan begins to attack again she smiles confidently, before his moves were well aimed and perfectly executed but now that she has gotten under his skin, his blade is rapidly, savagely thrust in an attempt to overpower her. Rather than attempt to parry and counter these powerful blows, Sasha simply moves away, laughing as she glides and sidesteps. Growing more and more frustrated, Ivan again over extends himself but this time, rather than strike at him she smashes her blade into his with an almighty thud, breaking his blade clean in two.
 
With the tip of her blade on his throat, she forces him backwards until he trips and falls, laying flat on his back he growls loud enough for the now silent crowd to hear, "Get it over with. I'M NOT AFRAID TO DIE."
 
"Of course you're not," Sasha retorts, removing the blade from his throat, "but that would be the easy way out. You will live and you will fight, for our people need every warrior we can muster, and for that reason alone I SASHA RIVERS, WARRIOR OF THE FOREST PEOPLE LET YOU LIVE."
 
The cheering begins at the back of the crowd, but quickly spreads as Acelin nods, and Ivan storms from the compound followed by his pack.
 
"You'll need to watch that one," Tor warns her as the crowd disperses, "but that is a worry for tomorrow. You have done well, your father would be proud."
 
The tears that had been threatening to fall now do, Tor walks away to join the celebrations, and she walks to join her new pack as an adult.