Caradoc’s staff slammed into hers, the iron guard ringing like a bell between her hands. The tremors rolled up her quivering arms to her shoulders “Keep your guard up,” Caradoc snapped in that low fierce voice. “This isn’t a recital.” The sun glared down at them between the leaves, Caradoc glared at her between the branches. She hoped fervently that he would attribute her flushed cheeks to the heat, instead of the fact that she was a furnace of mortification and frustration burning from the inside out. He thought she was spoiled and useless, and she was proving him right. She’d assumed that with enough training she could learn to fight, and he was proving her wrong. She wanted to start running and not stop until she was clear out of the Spirit Forest. Instead, she told herself to be stronger, be better; her mother’s voice cutting through her limp defeat. She had just enough time to bend her knees and brace herself as Caradoc came after her again. He was barely trying, and he was still so ferocious, it was mesmerizing.
