"Slowly . . . slowly . . . let your right foot rise until just your toes touch the earth. Focus your awareness on the movement, on how your muscles work, on your breath, on—" "I can't focus when you talk so much!" Madori wobbled, nearly fell, and glared at the old teacher. He sighed. "In battle, when arrows fly and swords swing, will you tell your enemy that you cannot focus while they try to kill you? You must be able to focus even as they attack; you should be able to handle words from an old man's mouth. Now—tilt! Slowly . . . to the left . . . be aware of every breath . . ." She grumbled but she obeyed. As he had taught her, she cleared her mind of thought, focusing all her awareness on the movement of her body as she tilted to the left—the muscles stretching, the weight shifting, her strands of hair falling free from behind her ears, the feel of the ground beneath her bare feet, and the air entering and leaving her lungs. When they swayed to the right, she kept breathing deeply, letting every thought that entered her mind flow away.
