It was a way to pass the time and keep herself from thinking too much. To distract herself from the memories that flooded her mind if she was idle for too long. Sometimes she locked herself in her cabin for hours and performed the exercises of open-handed combat she had learned at the Vineyard long ago, working through the unarmed forms over and over again until every muscle in her body throbbed and spots danced before her eyes. But if she stayed alone too long, her thoughts went to the dark places. To New Kyre and the blaze of golden fire above the Pyramid of Storm. To Sicarion laughing as he drove his dagger into the back of the man who had raised Caina. To the Moroaica, weeping as the white fire blazed behind her. To Corvalis, lying dead upon the ground of the netherworld. And when her thoughts went there, Caina found herself gazing at the veins in her arm, thinking of the knives she carried. She retained enough of her right mind to realize that she was not thinking clearly, that her mood was dangerous.
