Unconsciously, time slipped away. Evening arrived, painting the sky in hues of purple and gold. Frank Yates, immersed in a selfless state of cultivation, felt no passage of time at all. He was one with the rhythm of the earth, a silent statue amidst the swaying reeds.
Suddenly, the tranquility was broken by voices—loud, boisterous, and young.
A group of young men and women wearing white Taekwondo uniforms, colored belts tied crisply around their waists, walked toward the pond. They laughed and joked, their voices carrying over the water.
There were two men and three women. The man leading the group was tall and muscular, with handsome features that exuded a cocky confidence. He walked with a swagger that said he owned the park.
"Starla, I watched your sparring session today. Your grasp
