The five days passed in a rhythm that was becoming familiar.
Day Two. Florence ambushed him in the courtyard. No warning, just a leg sweep that took his feet out and a grapple that pinned him before he hit the ground. The stones were cold through his tunic. Her forearm pressed across his chest, firm but not hurting him. Her face was inches away, grinning.
"Better," she said. "Your reaction time's improving. A month ago you would've just hit the ground and stayed there."
"A month ago I didn't know you were going to ambush me every other day."
"Now you do. And you still ended up on the ground."
"You also ended up on the ground." He was referring to the day before, when he'd finally managed to sweep her legs during their evening spar. She'd hit the courtyard stones face-first and come up laughing, a smudge of dirt across her cheek.
"That was different," she said. "I let you do that."
"You absolutely did not let me do that."
"I was being generous."
"You were being slow."
