"That arm is better for you."
Lyra muttered something offhanded while we put on our dorm boots. She ignored me. That was unfair to her. She was intrigued by my work.
The morning group drill saw me in the treated bracer. It was lightly tapped many times fast. Not much. Barely enough to suggest I was "guarding" it.
I whispered, "It's stiff," waving my wrist like a kink. "I suppose it's from the fight between two people."
She rose up and made a meaningless sound. Garok practices fighting today. Dual "full contact." One moment, she gazed at me. "Do not get hurt."
Threat was velvet-wrapped.
On the exercise field, people were nervous and energetic. The fight bracket was posted, and names were being drawn for tomorrow's opening round. Every drill was the last chance to impress, terrify, or
