Othello went to visit his wife, Regan went to the training yard. Both were getting their dose of physical activity for the evening, though she had a hunch Othello’s activities were very, very different from hers. She trundled in, feeling a little agitated and hoping that some practice would help get it out of her system.

Marching into the training yard, she gave Zahra a curt nod.

“Ready to get started?” Regan asked, straight to business.

Regan too appreciated Zarha’s brevity. Too many people were all talk and no action. Besides, Othello talked more than anyone she’d ever met, so the relative silence was refreshing. Regan relaxed a little—though it was only a very little—dropping the pack on her shoulder to the ground.

“You favor speed over power,” Regan said—a statement of fact, not a question, “Now that’s fine, but you have to use your strengths, not rely on them.” Regan shook out her hands, standing before Zarha.

“Hit me.”

Regan moved out of the way, but only just. Just enough movement for Zarha to miss the blow and hit nothing but air. She waited for Zarha to hit again. The other soldier wouldn’t know it, but beyond her natural skill, Regan drew on the supernatural for an additional edge. It wasn’t fair, but it’s what it was.

Again, Regan moved out of the way, using just a little movement she needed to in order to avoid the blow. There would be a lesson to all this—though learning it would no doubt be frustrating. Frustration was part of the process, however. Necessary for growth in body and mind.

Regan, again aided by her enhanced senses, moved just in the nick of time, enough to swing behind Zarha and put her in a hold. She held it only a moment before releasing her.

“Good,” Regan said—and she meant it. She had far more experience than Zarha, so defeat was hardly an indicator of failure. “Now…” She stood in front of Zarha.

“When you were fighting Stormcrest, you were faster than him—no doubt. But your problem is you move your body more than you need to. You tired out. Restraint is just as important as skill; use only as much force as you need to win. Anything else is a waste.”

She waited to see if Zarha had any questions.

“Practice.” So far, Zarha was proving to be a focused student. Regan was finding that she was glad she’d taken a chance on her, despite her loss in the training yard. Regan could recognize hunger, and she saw it in the new recruit.

Regan raised her hands again, waiting until Zarha was ready before taking a swing.

Regan countered, and the spar was on. The huntsman would stop at intervals, offering Zarha corrections before launching back in again. The pace was relentless, but the ache in her muscles when they’d finished felt good. When the training yard was in darkness, dimly lit by flickering torchlight, Regan finally called for a stop. The witch was smiling—an expression not often seen.

“Good work.”