We’ve fought together many times over the years (yes, even against common foe) and have learned to protect each other’s backs without accidentally decapitating one another.We swing our long swords in syncopation, the blades slicing through the narrow joint between the bodies and heads of the first of the yagi. Their noxious blood squirts from the stumps as we kick over the first of the dead bodies, trying to push back the incoming horde. In an ideal situation, we’d be wearing protective clothing. Or any clothing.Fighting barefoot in boxer shorts in far from ideal, but the yagi haven’t given us a choice.I glance behind me to make sure Nia is okay (and yes, to see if she’s impressed with my sword work). She’s fiddling with the latch on the window, oblivious to my sword-wielding prowess, though I’m more concerned about what she’s up to than whether she’s impressed with me at the moment.“What are you doing?” I ask as I decapitate another yagi and kick the headless body into the influx of mutant dragon-slaying beasts.She gives me a guilty look and drops her hands, but says nothing.What is that about?
