Labyrinth (Part Two!!!)

Idris looked down at the shining steel in her hand. It felt too light to be a weapon, too soft. Kilik had told her that morning how lucky they were; after years of trying to convince him, Sensei Noir had finally left his dojo in the care of someone else and had come to teach a year at the academy. While he set the other girls to sparring, he had taken Idris aside to see what he was working with.
“In your own time, attack the dummy.”
Taking a few steps back, Idris took the katana in both hands and did what came naturally. After a few dozen seconds of spirited swings, the teacher held up a hand, “Enough.” As the straw settled, he surveyed the thoroughly shredded dummy and the panting young minotaur, “Power is a fine base to build on, child, but it is important to learn more expedient methods.” He turned smartly to face the store of dummies against the courtyard wall, and in a fluid motion drew his katana and slashed once, ending with his arm out to the right. There was a single deep cut in the neck of the dummy.
Idly, Sensei Noir span the katana is his hand and sheathed it as he turned back to Idris. “If the fist stroke is good enough, you need not waste your breath in continuing the attack.” He turned his head to the side, taking his scar out of Idris' view, “Munroe!” A young human man, just old enough that he wasn't a boy, by Idris' reckoning, hurried up to Sensei Noir's side. His hair and eyes, she noticed, were lustrous brown, then made an effort not to notice any more.
“Idris, this is Munroe, my apprentice and assistant. Munroe, I'd like you to find a room and bring Idris up to speed. If you're a quick learner, Idris, shouldn't be more than five lessons before you're on par with the rest of the class.”

In an empty classroom, Idris frowned at the wooden sword in her hand and definitely didn't notice Munroe's nicely-shaped jaw. “Munroe's a weird name,” she ventured, conversationally.
The lad chuckled, “It's actually my surname. My first name is Iago, but the real Iago visits Sensei a lot, so he got into the habit of calling me Munroe to avoid confusion.”
“The real Iago?”
“You know, the Star Cleaver Iago.”
“Oh. I didn't think that was what real meant. Sorry, my common isn't that good.” She didn't quite understand why she felt the need to apologise for this.
“Well, it kind of isn't. But he's the actual Iago, isn't he?”
“You're as real as him, aren't you?” She poked him with the end of the wooden katana in the shoulder. In her head, she thought, “If anything, you're more real. I've never seen the other one.” She thought it was an odd thing to say aloud.
Munroe chuckled again, “I suppose. I prefer Munroe anyway. There are a thousand boys my age named Iago. That name doesn't belong to me. I've never met another Munroe I wasn't related to.” His smile dropped and he ran a hand through his hair, “Anyway, basic forms. Right.”
Idris found difficulty getting the stances right, and for some reason Munroe carefully positioning her didn't help; she just forgot everything when he told her to try it unaided.

In her free period, she retired to her room and thought about things that seemed exceedingly strange to her. Minotaurs were a straightforward people, by and large, which other races took for bluntness and stupidity. Sometimes the other races were wrong, but Idris'd be damned if it wasn't a barrier either way. She was still lying on her bed thinking when Kilik came in.
“So how was your first day?” She asked cheerily, though she still sounded like her tongue was made of sandpaper*.
Idris gave a horizontal shrug, and then sat up, “You know Munroe?”
“Sensei Noir's apprentice? Yeah, I know of him.” Kilik sat down on her bunk.
“What do you think of him?”
“He's all right, I suppose. Huh.” She lay back on her pillow.
“Huh what?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She closed her eyes nonchalantly, “Just didn't have you pegged as a pinkskin-lover.” A pillow collided with her snout.


*Which it basically was.