12
“Too slow, my lad.” That’s Nat speaking, although the words are a little slurred with his mouth guard in. Nat’s my Master at Arms and latest sparring partner today. Again, we’re at the tourney grounds (or what’s been built of it so far). We both wear shorts and t-shirts. Nat comes at my chin with a left hook, which I dodge.
Nat scowls. “Don’t hold back.” He knows I’m not giving him everything. Mostly because I’m not.
Today’s another day I’ve spent in practice matches with all eligible guards and warriors. After Myla’s awards ceremony this morning, I’ve had nothing but excess energy. In fact, Nat insisted on doing a second practice round with me today, even though the man is clearly winded.
I follow up with a quick series of jabs followed by a left hook. I’m not really putting all my
