"Lecim, Vesalios, and Molnt...For aggressive action taken against another student, you will be required to run three laps around the army encampment after Estia's standard training this evening. Run, not walk. Likewise, for Farha, you will be running a lap as well for being involved in the altercation."

Silence hung in the morning air. Farha's mind was anything but. First, there was the shock...pure disbelief. The encampment was large, to be sure, but three laps? For almost killing her? While she tried to wrap her mind around the meager punishment, instructor Chellt's following statement sunk in. She was being punished? HER? Rage blossomed, piercing out from her eyes at anyone who would meet them. Perol's reflected back regret while all the other instructors remained stone-faced. She stared at Perol until he was forced to look away.

The cool morning breeze did nothing to cool the heat within. If anything, it only fanned the flames. Even the smell of the fresh dew was drowned out by furry. Farha etched those cold faces into her memory, one by one. Such affronts to morality should never be forgotten. Knuckles aching, she unclenched her fists. Was her life worth so little that the direct account from a witness didn't matter in the slightest? Perol still refused to meet her gaze. Had he lied and covered for those vile tormentors? There was no motive, but what were the alternatives? Chellt was droning on, his voice muffled by the pounding in her ears.

"...and so, we must strive together to reach ever higher. It will do you well to put as much effort as you can into this, your first step along the path to true nobility. Born into it you may be, but it takes much more than blood to forge a legacy. I shall now entrust you to the wise guidance of Astelia. Listen well and growth will be inevitable. Fail to do so and you will betray not only yourselves, but your entire family line, both past and present."

Chellt offered a bow, though that was a vast exaggeration. Only the most attentive of the students standing before him noticed the tilt of his head. When Astelia took a step forward, all heads abruptly turned in her direction.

"Today we will start with the very basics. Each of you originates from various cities, cultures, and upbringings. These differences are as important as they are liabilities in your future interchange and correspondence among your peers. The tent nearest the fighting pit will be our usual meeting place. Be sure to make your way inside in an orderly fashion, as soon as you have finished the morning meal."

With an elegant bow, seen by all, she graciously excused them. Nobody moved. A fraction of a smile crossed her face. She added a nod before turning and leaving. As if that was a predetermined signal, the other instructors turned as well and walked off with varying degrees of alacrity. Stillness blanketed the rows of students as their new teachers grew distant. It was thrown off with violent force as everyone rushed to fill their rumbling stomachs. Voices were kept low, but there was enough noise from jostling and tramping to fill the air.

Soon, the only one in sight was Farha, still standing at attention. Deep breaths under heavy pressure. As it moved through her airways, she could still feel the burn where the water had rubbed it raw. Nothing like it had been in the moment, but enough to trigger the dark memories. Why? It was a simple question, but her mind refused to comprehend anything more complex. Besides, it was a fair one. Just...why? Her hands ached again, she didn't care. Sometimes fists were meant to be tight.

"Farha....I do apologize. I did all that I could."

That familiar voice was friendly no longer. It tore at her ears, threatening to rip away any shred of control she pretended to own. She turned towards Perol, eyes spewing furry, righteous and otherwise. He winced under their ire, it wasn't enough.

"You think this is fair? You're content to stand by and see me...ME, punished for deigning to claim victimhood?" Her expression morphed to bewilderment, begging that an answer existed to the ever-present question screaming in her head. It broke out in whisper, carried away by the wind.

-why-

"No one is more upset than..." Another wince. "What I mean to say is that I am enraged as well. I tried to argue against this injustice but I was overruled. I have the least say out of the instructors, both from my age and standing. I truly did everything within my power to fight this."

"Why?"

The wind rustled in the treetops, a distant shout from the encampment, but the space between them was silent. Perol messaged his forehead, shoulders slumped.

"I'm not sure I can answer that. Perhaps they don't understand the severity of what happened. Even if they do, maybe that's not enough to change their opinion. I'm sure there will be many more fights and scuffles between now and when you students have learned all that you can from us. Of course, it could be a repeat of an oft-too-common occurrence where the richest and most esteemed people are acquitted in hopes of currying favor. In any case, there is nothing to do now. Cheer up though, it's only one lap."

He finished with a halfhearted smile and a pat on her shoulder. At that, her face went flat. Oh, her eyes still blazed, her fists continued to ache, but she forced it not to leak out. So this is how it would be. Just another person who had the power to make a stand but turned coward in the end. Staring over his shoulder into the distance, she refused to offer him a response.

Silence was back, now with an awkward undertone. At least Perol thought so. Farha could tell he wanted to say something more and ease the tension. Ultimately, either he chose not to or was unable to find the words. All he could manage was an 'I'm sorry' before leaving. She would have preferred the silence. Rage ate at her, she let it. Minutes passed with her standing there. Eventually, the emotions ran their course and her awareness returned.

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The first thing she noticed were her stiff fingers and tired legs. Anger had left a mark with those physical manifestations of its nature. Allowing herself to sit, she tried to relax and focus on the sensations. The sand below, the skin between fingers, stands of hair fluttering in the breeze. It took time to regain some sense of normalcy. The camp behind her was quiet now. A single voice droned on somewhere nearby. Too far to make out words, the ebbs and flows were comforting. She cocked her head. Was that coming from the nearest tent?

With a start, she jumped to her feet. Several strides, a jump to the wooden platform and it was confirmed. The first lesson was well underway. Cringing in advance, Farha dashed across the matted grass, the earth springing under each step. Slowing before the door of the tent, best not to have her arrival preceded by a billowing of the flaps, she took a deep breath and entered.

An overwhelming cacophony of smells attacked, causing an instant headache. Perfumes of many varieties clashed with one another in the enclosed space. Combined, the overabundance made it impossible to decipher a single scent. Farha took solace in the fact that most of their training would take place outside where the air wasn't poisoned. However, every single second spent inside while surrounded by the pompous nobility was destined to be miserable.

Upon Farha's abrupt arrival, Astelia paused at the interruption. All eyes turned to the intruder.

"Take a seat, and be sure you're not late again."

With that look fixed on her, Farha didn't think the threat needed to be verbalized. The anger still simmered below the surface which thankfully blocked out any embarrassment she would normally feel. Scanning the small space, there was only one spot available. Gritting her teeth, Farha forced herself to offer the unjust judge a quick bow before silently moving between the rows.

She was surprised to find how low the chair was upon sitting down. Giving it a moment of thought cleared her confusion. If they were any higher, those in the back would be unable to see. Shaking her head at her stupidity, she tried to listen to the lecture Astelia had seamlessly continued.

"...and that's where the crimson dyes first arose in popularity. It is very important to remember that commenting on the deepness of the color itself, when worn, is viewed as a strong complement. Likewise, to comment on any other color, whether in praise or disparagingly, is taken as an insult to the nation of Lomstas itself."

Farha groaned inwardly. Her stomach audibly echoed the annoyance. Of course, she had missed breakfast. Glancing about, it looked like nobody had noticed the sound. At least she was spared that misfortune. However, her eyes did land on three figures sitting near the front. As if it had never left, her rage returned. It was even stronger than before.

"It is important to remember that such importance on color is not universal. For example, farther up the coast in Ophila the color has no import at all. In fact, mentioning anything besides the cut of the clothing is viewed as having unsophisticated taste. That's when you should say where there is far along to the most…"

The words faded into meaninglessness. Farha was transported back to that traumatic encounter...and now there was an additional scene forcing itself to repeat over and over. Chellt's sentencing. She could feel herself shaking. Why? If you were insulting enough to ask, she couldn't give an answer. If she were in a stable state, it could be described as a horrible mix of suffering, fear, dread, and betrayal. In a word, pain.

It rose and fell as the day dragged on. Fortunately, the afternoon carried with it combat training. Unfortunately, it was only footwork and stances. Any distraction was welcome, but no matter how thorough, nothing could fully distract. She wanted to strike back with every fiber of her being. Whether at the tormentors or the instructors, it made no difference. Both groups were vastly stronger than she was. What use would it be? With no outlet, the rage flowed on. Neither building nor fading, it coursed through her, tormenting endlessly. In moments of clarity, she worried for sanity, but more than anything, she was tired.

Tired of everything. Powerless in body, drained in emotion. As evening fell, she longed for rest, yet dreaded the coming of the next day. It was with this turmoil that she stood before Chellt once more. As much as she despised him, it was far better to stare into his cloak than to see the evil faces of the three standing beside her.

"I shall repeat myself from earlier, Farha is to run one full lap around the walls of the encampment. The rest of you are to run three. No walking or pausing and do try to finish before sundown. You'll need as much rest as possible for tomorrow."

It was boiling now. Muscles twitching, brain scraped raw, Farha wanted nothing more than to slam her fists into any of the nearby faces. It took all her willpower to show restraint.

"Well...get to it!"

Mechanically, she turned and set off. Pounding her feet into the ground with each step, the impact was a pleasant form of uncomfortable. Finally, there was an outlet to the rage. It wouldn't be enough, but she'd take anything at this point. Out across the trammeled grass into thicker brush, she ran straight for the wall. Somewhere behind her, footsteps thumped. She put more effort into each stride, gaining distance. This she could control. The agony of trying to form coherent thought faded away at the same rate as the thumps.

At the wall, she turned and started the lap. Making sure to take note of a discolored log, its sharpened top high above, she fell into a rhythm. Besides a few sidesteps to avoid soldiers passing by, nothing distracted her from the ground ahead. At the halfway point, she could feel the burn creeping into her legs. Another quarter of the way around that vast circle, a stitch in her side. She didn't care. No...she welcomed the pain. This was real. Sweat poured down her face as she glimpsed that odd log. A few more steps, and she had made it.

Farha didn't stop…she sped up. Another halfway, the pain was sharper now, clawing at her bones. There was no breeze, the comforting warmth of a summer evening had turned oppressive. She forced her feet to move faster. The last steps to that starting point were the hardest yet. Breaths were ragged now, the air felt empty. She made it to the mark and faltered. But no, there was more rage to burn. It fueled her breaking body, or maybe that was only her imagination. In any case, she forged on.

Darkness was creeping into the edges of her vision, but she refused to stop. Spitting dust and phlegm, she dug deeper, pushed with all she had on every step. No longer did the people passing by cause her to deviate, much to their dismay. Collisions with those slow enough to remain in her path weren't even processed. Only one sight caught her attention, three blurry shapes in a staggered line. Faster, she had to be faster.

The rest was a blur. As she collapsed on the floor of the tent, gasping for air, she could only remember one thing with any clarity; passing by that dark log, one last time.