ORIGIN

Whap. He jerked, flinching and surprised by Vjira's lightning-fast strike. "Good!" he boomed again, out of habit--but, of course, his praise was genuine. He aimed a last light tap at the Valkhound's snout--not hard, enough to be sore a bit (and to make the point that the nose area was sensitive on some things--assuming it was on her design; he didn't know for sure) but nothing more.

Then he hopped back, reverting to a more upright posture and to speech instead of swatting. "Vulnerable points!" he tried to reiterate, leaning down to tap several spots on himself once again, in demonstration. Inner thigh. Armpit. Throat. Joints. Eyes. Snout.

"Do you understand?" he asked--hopefully she understood the spar, the lesson, was over; unless, of course, she wanted more.

Vargas was already pondering what else he could teach this one. He'd liked to have gotten some idea of its magic abilities, if any; it certainly looked like something that could use them, but could it-? Its design seemed too flamboyant, too specialized, to be a soldier or assassin--but then again, so did his.