[Arya sees a man holding two wooden swords with his back facing her]
You are late, boy. Tomorrow, you will be here at midday.
Who are you?
[turns around] Your dancing master, Syrio Forel. [throws one of the wooden swords to Arya, who doesn't catch it] Tomorrow, you will catch it. Now, pick it up.
[Arya picks up the sword and grips it with both hands]
That is not the way, boy. This is not a greatsword that is needing two hands to swing it.
It's too heavy.
It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong. Just so. One hand is all that is needed. Now, you are standing all wrong. Turn your body side-face. [Arya turns sideways] So... you are skinny. That is good. The target is smaller. Now the grip–let me see.
[Syrio inspects Arya's hand and her grip on the sword]
Yes. The grip must be delicate.
What if I drop it?
The steel must be part of your arm. Can you drop part of your arm? No. [walks in a circle around Arya] Nine years, Syrio Forel was First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. He knows these things. You must listen to me, boy.
I'm a girl.
Boy, girl... you are a sword, that is all. That is the grip.
[Arya tries to imitate Syrio's grip on his sword]
You are not holding a battle axe. You are holding...
A needle.
Ahhh... Just so. Now, we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the dance of the Westeros we are learning... the knight's dance, hacking and hammering. This is the Braavos dance... the water dance. It is swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? If you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die. Now you will try to strike me.
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