"Pass."

"Wasn't asking you."

Theodora's clothes are all homemade, and feature pockets in a profusion at which a rogue would blush. The bandages pocket bulges once again!

The scarecrow wears abortive cast-offs, clothing that Theodora made but didn't see fit to give or sell. Goofy-looking, but with a bigger wardrobe than most of the town's citizens. She's always thrilled to see them constructively ruined for Masha's training.

Masha leads the way!

She does still start with cantrips, though the goal is full spells. She channels them through her sword, mostly, but she makes sure to get in some swipes with her claws. It wouldn't do to be disarmed.

Her style isn't fully formed yet, really; she fights better than a peasant conscript, but she's no hero. She tries for speed and overwhelming aggression, and gets some of it. She is fast, and when she hits she hits hard, but her accuracy really could use work. (That's not to say she misses the dummy. But Theodora's dueled her. Her accuracy could use work.)

Casting spells with an attack seems confusing. How does one effectively measure the angle of a stab, or how hard to BONK someone on their head(s), if half or more of the wounding only happens afterwards? Theodora supposes it might be like wielding poisoned blades, where the point is mostly to break the skin. This isn't an association that improves her opinion, really.

But then, accuracy must be the whole ball game under that paradigm. Swinging a miss for every other hit is exhausting even before you add dragon spellcraft to your plate. The answer to this, after about ten minutes of dummying, is obvious; strapping on her studded leather from the shed, she yells at the baby mage:

"Take me down in the next ten seconds or I'll go commit some crimes!"

Her shout conveniently covers the sound of the kobolds' approach, and the snickering from a nearby bush is close enough to rustling that it doesn't register.