The morning passed. To say it moved quickly would be a lie. As would claiming it dragged on in endless desperation. It simply passed.

Farha could feel that nightmare of a run weighing on her, body and mind alike. It pushed down with a pressure she could feel flowing from shoulders to soles. Deeper within, it had taken its toll on her emotions as well. They were frayed, yet dull. A suppressed mania hiding under the surface paradoxically merging with apathy. She didn't bother untangling all the threads to sew a tapestry of sanity, she simply existed.

Even the colors were flat. The bright sun might have contributed, or perhaps it truly was just her perception that had been warped. In any case, the tents were bland and boring as she walked from one to another. The first lesson of the day, after breakfast of course, had been another one on propriety; useless as always. Now it was the old man's turn. Hopefully, it would contain something amazing to brighten the day and distract from the aches in her bones.

It didn't.

Stepping out of another tent, Farha took in a deep breath. The air was crisper, a welcome relief from the stuffy tent full of sweaty people. Taking in the expressions of those around her, she wasn't the only one relishing the liberation. Surprisingly, Chellt wasn't the worst teacher, but his subject matter left much to be desired. It had piqued her interest at first, before throwing off its disguise and revealing a mundane visage.

'A historical overview of the many names given to the process of drawing in energy from the world' Such a horrible start to the lesson, and sadly, all too accurate of a title. Nothing he stated taught her anything about how...or even why. A complete waste of time, she'd rather be running. Okay...that was a lie. Walking? Hmm...maybe sitting around for ages wasn't so terrible. Ah! Digging a ditch would have been preferable. At least that had some use.

However, Chellt's last words carried some hope. They were to report to the pit. Ominous, to be sure, but there was no way they would just be sitting around in the sand. She followed the trail of students as they strolled over. It wasn't far, but Farha acutely noticed every step. However, Lecim was watching so she refused to grimace. The soft impact of shoes on dirt morphed into hollow thuds as the wooden platform was reached. Wordlessly, they all spread out in a half circle around the sandy pit. Standing there in the center was Perol, that traitor, dressed in combat leathers.

"Welcome students. Today we will begin your training in the blade and other related weapons." He gave a half bow and straightened with a twinkle in his eye. "Many have traveled this path before you. Many more will follow after. The meaning I wish to impart applies to all and was told to me when I stood in your place."

He paused, letting the silence add emphasis as was its wont. Though aware of the signs that another lecture was soon on its way, Farha couldn't help but focus on each word. This was the language she knew best of all.

"The message is this…you are terrible. I can see by your faces that such a statement caused offense. The rest of you still do not believe I am being sincere. Let me restate it clearly. Each one of you is truly terrible. You do not know how best to wield a sword, when to strike, when to defend. Proper footwork and stances are far behind your comprehension. Farther beyond that is the knowledge of when to fight and when to speak. I will be astonished if anyone here can even grasp the handle properly."

Farha glared at Perol. How dare he. Stabbing her in the back wasn't enough? Perhaps his ego was too large to grasp the concept that she could have talent. Had he never witnessed someone gifted with the blade? How then was he the one chosen to teach them? What a waste. Smiling? He had the gall to smile?

"I see you're beginning to get the picture. Let me fill in the remaining blank spaces. There's one thing none of you are considering. One simple revelation that will shift your perception, hopefully for the rest of your lives. I am terrible. My teacher was terrible...and his teacher, and his as well. On and on, back through time. The same is true into the future. You will train your entire life, impart that knowledge as best you can to someone else, and still be absolutely terrible."

This was supposed to help somehow? Farha turned her gaze away and stared at the treetops. Maybe running would actually have been better.

"Ah, I can tell a couple of you are getting it. We, all the masters of blade and war, are atrocious. No matter how much time is spent and collective wisdom discovered, there is an infinite chasm laying before us. Somewhere in its depths lies the perfect parry, ultimate balance. True art played out through the clashing of bars of metal. Flawless maneuvering to the point of becoming a dance, elegant and deadly. That is what we strive for. It shall never be reached, but that is the best secret anyone could discover."

Another pause. Farha couldn't help but be drawn back in. Something stirred in her heart, cleansing the emotional lactic acid from her mind.

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"There will always be more. When I first realized this, I felt that same thrill most of you are experiencing. You can see the allure of that wonderful light. However, I am aware this is not an easy concept to grasp. It is far too easy to fall into the exact opposite mindset from the same statement. 'I will never be enough' It's a scary thought, but only if you allow it to be so. What does it matter if you're not enough? All you must do is your best. Can you do more than your best? If you force your body and soul into submission and train every waking moment from now until the end of time...is that more than your best? Often, that will result in something far less than your maximum potential. No, all I ask, all that anyone can ask, is for your best. Look endless into that chasm, pull up what you can, and live."

The words echoed out in that silent clearing. Even the birds had ceased their incessant chirping. Farha still despised him, but there was something to his words. A vision of the future far brighter than she had pictured before. How far down could she go? What would she discover that none had before? Was it worth the effort? Instantly, the answer was self-evident. Of course it was...it would be worth everything and nothing. Only her best.

"Now that your hearts are sharpened, I sincerely hope they are, we shall begin with a sparring. After all, we must know how terrible you truly are."

Curse his grin. She tried to suppress her own which came from entirely different sentiments. Finally! Her hand yearned for the familiar weight. Soon they would all see she wasn't some inferior noble from a mean town in the middle of nowhere.

"We'll start with Adriot and Molnt."

And now he was allowing one of her tormentors to go first. How was she so blind to his nature at first? She stood still as the two combatants jumped down into the pit. Perol handed each a wooden training sword, both exquisitely made. The edges looked sharp, though doubtless they were a far cry from steel.

A quick salute by both, and the battle commenced. Adriot lunged forward, aiming for a quick resolution. Molnt flowed with the thrust, taking a step back before it could connect with his stomach. He stood poised, feet firmly planted. Another lunge, this time at his leg. Smoothly batting it aside, Molnt calmly advanced. He sent a few probing slashes of his own to test Adriot's response. Though not as resolute, the blows were still deflected with some skill.

Farha couldn't help but secretly cheer on Adriot. Unconsciously, her arms and legs twitched with each motion. All it would take was one clean strike. That is, if they were following the official dueling rules...those horrible affronts to true skill. Of course everyone was terrible if they had to abide by such restrictions.

Clearly, Molnt held the advantage, and just as clearly, Adriot was aware of that fact. He shifted his attacks from strong blows to a more cunning style. Feints were mixed in, angles changed at the last moment, even the classic ‘what’s over there’ gesture. All of it was to no avail. Molnt pressed on, relentless. Nothing came close to touching him. Just as Adriot went in for another thrust, Molnt twisted his body to the side and lunged as well. His struck true.

"A fine blow. I can see several areas where both of you can improve, well done."

Holding his side, Adriot returned his blade and nodded to Molnt. There was only one difference in Molnt's actions. A single glance at Farha. It ignited all the rage from the night before.

"Next we shall have Farha and Stola."

Burning from within, Farha stepped off the wood and let herself drop to the sand. Before her feet landed, she was already moving. She snatched the sword out of Perol's hand while keeping her gaze lowered. She refused to meet his eyes. Turning smoothly on the loose sand, she stood in the ready position.

Stola took her time. By the time they both were ready, Farha was getting impatient. She dashed forward as soon as Perol gave a nod. Now she was regretting the laps. It wasn't the pain that bothered her, pain could be ignored. Her legs were refusing to function properly. They were so slow. Time stretched as she swung at Stola's neck. Not with all her force, causing injury wasn't the goal, but with enough to end the fight instantly. She could picture the look on Molnt's face.

That was her mistake; among many others. The first thing she forgot was that sand is the opposite of solid. Second was regarding her arms. Apparently, running used a lot of different muscles. Extended as she was, front foot slipping on the sand, she had no leverage to adjust her attack. Stola had simply ducked. Normally, that would have been impossible. A swing this slow was far too easy to predict. Stola had more than enough time to slip under its arc.

Desperately, Farha pulled the swing down with all the strength she could muster. That was the third mistake. Such a maneuver placed much more weight on her front foot as it glided forward. It didn't stop. In fact, the momentum shifted enough to speed it up. Stola peacefully watched as Farha lost all balance. She maintained that peace with a calm tap of her sword to Farha's back.

A few chuckles broke out. Perol waved them to silence, but the damage was done. Red-faced, Farha regained her feet, clenching the sword tight. An empty hand was extended, waiting for the hilt.

"Again."

The words, meant to be a command, came out as a plea. Perol shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, it's just one bout each. There will be sparring often throughout training and I'm sure you have much to learn from this one already." Gently pulling the sword from her hand, he scanned the amused faces. "Don't be too quick to mock. You will soon come to realize that more can be learned from a failure than a success." With a quieter tone, he turned to Farha. "Be glad, if you can. It is not often that the areas to improve are obvious."

Words wouldn't help. She climbed back to the wooden platform, ashamed. All she could see, besides her ungraceful dive across the sand, was the face of Molnt jeering triumphantly.