“Reflexes are built from experience, not thought,” he explained, and then his leg was flying toward my stomachagain.
I stepped back. Then I ducked. And then his other fist landed on the top of my skull with a soft thump.
“Your head is cleaved in two.”
I gritted my teeth, tensing my muscles as he began to circle me. I mirrored him, keeping him at my front.
“Good. Never let your opponent get behind you.”
He came at me again with three strikes in a row. I clumsily dodged them all, but his next series ended with me on the ground once more.
“You’re too focused on one part of my body. Use your periphery to observe me as a whole.”
Immediately, I shoved to my feet, irritation narrowing my focus. I wouldnotland on the ground again.
As the sky began to lighten with the sunrise, I ate my words five times and felt Harthon’s palm on my face ten. While there was no true physical pain, I felt the burn of frustration with every successive failure. Harthon offered no words of encouragement, only silence as the repetitions multiplied and my breathing grew labored.
Once again, I landed on the dirt, now numb to the impact. I’d managed to evade six strikes in a row, but a flash of excitement had distracted me from watching my periphery, and his leg had flicked out in a quick snap that pushed me down.
Harthon stepped forward and lowered his hand. “We’re done for today. You did well,” he said.
Considering I was staring at his face from the ground again, I certainly didnotdo well. Not yet, anyway.
Ignoring his hand, I came to my feet. “One more time,” I demanded, refusing to end on failure.
I wouldn’t allow excitement to distract me this time. Maybe I could make it to eight strikes, or ten.
Harthon shook his head. “That was enough. We have a long day ahead of us.”
I dug in my heels. “One more round won’t make me any more tired.”
“One more round is usually too many.”
“I’m not going back to camp until we do it again,” I declared, settling into my stance.
“You’re being stubborn.”
“I want to survive my next kitchen fight.”
Understanding rolled across the hard lines of his face. That was all the warning I had.
His leg kicked out toward my stomach, and I danced away. I ducked beneath a swinging arm and evaded a downward strike by mere inches. His other palm swept toward my face, and I lowered, but not before I noticed his left leg leaving the ground.
Step back.
He circled me, dark eyes searching for weaknesses.
Then he quickened his pace, and it quickly became apparent how easy he’d been taking it on me.
I lurched below his palm as his leg came up again, much faster than before, and I stumbled to the side just in time for his other palm to snap out. Dropping my head again, I noticed the lift of his foot. I was prepared to jolt away from the high kick when his foot swept toward my ankles instead.
Move away.
The thought came a moment too late. He made contact, and my feet flew out to the side. My hands weren’t moving at the speed they needed to break my fall. I was going to hit belly-first.
Two arms wrapped around me, jerking me to a stop.Thank the Domus.I had a moment to register Harthon’s solid mass above me, and then he levered me back to my feet with easy strength, bringing my chest inches from his. His grip was a hot, secure brand on each arm as I found the ground, shivering with the remnants of adrenaline.When I lifted my chin, I found his skin glistening with sweat, and again, my mouth dried.
“We’re done,” Harthon repeated, his tone offering no room for argument. Slowly, his hands trailed down my arms until they fell to his sides. “You’re a quick learner.”
