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Vanya saw Miolar approach, crossing through the grid of training mats in the auditorium, but she remained focused on the athletes.
“Good, Jerran,” she said as the taller combatant rolled and pushed himself up from the mat. “Almost fluid that time. Dall, you need to make the most of a fall, though. Don’t give yourself time to gloat. Get a kick in if nothing else.”
The shorter one tilted his head, breathing heavily. “That still feels uncouth,” he managed to say.
“Better uncouth than dead.” She sighed. “If you can’t cope, you need to step aside, let Jerran have an opponent who’s going to push him.”
Dall shook his head, sweat dripping from his shoulder-length hair—which would be far too easy for an opponent to grab. “No, no. I understand. And I don’t wish to hinder Jerran’s pro
