Both Alaric and Lyra lay sprawled on the training ground, a good distance apart, chests heaving, lungs burning. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the morning sun filtering through the dissipating battle haze. The once pristine training field looked like it had been hit by a small meteor shower – chunks of earth torn up, practice dummies scattered like broken toys.
"Whew," Alaric finally managed to wheeze out, his voice still a bit ragged. "That… that was actually really fun, Mother." He pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing slightly as his muscles protested.
Lyra groaned from her spot a few yards away, not even attempting to move yet. "Fun? Fun, you say?" she retorted, her voice laced with mock indignation, though a hint of amusement peeked through. "My bones are still rattling, son. You call nearly getting blown to smithereens 'fun'?" Her breasts, still nicely framed even by her torn top, rose and fell rapidly as she took deep, shuddering breaths.
