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[attr="class","banglyric"]Our religion is war.
Our church is the battlefield.
Our prayers are our fists.

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Bandage wrapping.

That was one of the few moments that she didn't find herself constantly on the move and busy by the rigors of daily life. It was her moment of contemplation and for the opportunity to praise her god in silent prayer. Even so, that prayer was little because it did not honour the weak. The wraps were palpably screaming against one another as she tightly wound them around one hand: one foot spread out like a man while the other held the longer part of the bandage against a rock while she pulled.

Breathing was steady, body was steady - but ready for her day all the same. Because, fate had so had it that she could not contend in being weak. Relaxed and ready for her day, the sun was barely peeking out from the horizon and she was up and at them, silently working by herself as always. One big breath.

"Chaaa~" the bandage was wound tightly enough. She was ready to go: everything else was good. She was dressed moreover what you'd see of a ruffian, but she needed it because she was rough. Dirty: ready to get down to the nitty gritty. The last thing was to pull at her long hair, flipping it over her front so that she could pull it all to a single strand, up: and using a final part of the bandage to wind it up into a ponytail.

But she was dressed in her dirt browns: old training gear that she'd kept religiously so throughout her training, feeling it unnecessary to waste on multiple duplicates of clothes when one could suffice with a clear wash routine? It could be done every night and made ready for the next day. For that reason, signs of wear and tear were clear from the way she treated her body but the color hadn't yet started to fade. Then, shorts: no shoes. Simple and bare against the world, she felt ready for it today.

As always.

She began to run quietly: it had started at a point outside her home but would be taking her on a long journey around the village for her warm up for the day. Why? Her stamina was trash. She kept stopping, and that wasn't good enough. To die in battle? It was not honorable to die in the first leg.

She set into her breathing, but quickly settled into her pace of a resting bitch face ready to greet the world as she ran along the streets as it sprung into life.

[attr="class","cred"]MADE BY VEL OF WW + GS

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