“Next we’ll try a physical exercise,” Tarik announced. “All three of you will go to the far wall.” He indicated the wall he meant. “You’ll run across the room and touch this other wall as high as you can, then run back and strike the suspended bag with all your might. Ask your animals to enhance your efforts in any way they can.”
Meilin surveyed the canvas bag hanging from a beam near the far wall. Suspended by a chain, the bulging sack was taller than her and looked heavy.
“Will we do it at the same time?” Meilin asked.
“Yes,” Tarik said. “The first to reach the bag will strike it first, and so forth. We’ll evaluate your speed, the height of your leap, and the force with which you hit the bag. Go ahead and take a moment with your animals.”
Meilin approached Jhi. The panda sat on her hind legs and watched her serenely. Jhi licked one of her paws. The relaxed attitude did little to boost Meilin’s confidence.
“Can you help me with this?” Meilin asked. “Can you give me extra speed? Extra energy? I’ve never felt that from you. This might be a good time to start.”
The panda cocked her head as if mildly perplexed.
“Look,” Meilin whispered harshly. “Every minute we are stuck here in training is another minute that my father and his army have to struggle without us. I know you have power — you’re a Great Beast. So I need you to help me, because every delay helps our enemy. Do you understand? We’re not playing a game here. We are at war.”
Did Meilin sense a degree of understanding in that unblinking silver gaze? Or was it imagined?
The boys were heading to the wall, so Meilin trotted to join them. Her body was in good condition. Even though it had been a few weeks since a formal training session with the masters, she had engaged in regular routines while traveling to maintain her reflexes and endurance. The boys were taller, but she wasn’t slow, and she knew how to deliver vicious blows.
Briggan paced along one of the side walls, watching the three with a predator’s intensity. Essix flew up to roost on the beam above the suspended bag. Jhi sat where Meilin had left her, looking on silently.
Rollan smirked at her. “Did you have to run much in your palace?”
“I didn’t live in a palace,” Meilin replied. It was true, although she realized her home would probably look like a palace to Rollan or Conor. Assuming it still stood.
“I run fine,” Conor volunteered. “I haven’t done it much lately. How about you, Rollan?”
“Orphans have to run well,” he replied. “A slow orphan ends up in jail.”
“Weren’t you just in jail?” Meilin asked innocently.
“Are you ready?” Tarik called.
One Greencloak observer stood by them against the starting wall. Another was positioned by the wall where they would jump. And the third waited near the hanging sack. All three kids touched the wall behind them.
“Get ready,” Tarik said. “And . . . go!”
Meilin pushed off and ran as fast as she could. In her mind, she asked Jhi for greater speed, feeling somewhat ridiculous. It was hard to imagine extra speed coming from the sluggish panda. With swift spirit animals, Conor and Rollan had more cause for faith.
Meilin ran well, but as she approached the wall for the jump, Rollan was a few paces ahead, and Conor was about even with her. The dash felt like nothing beyond a regular sprint.
Meilin considered the jump. If the boys tried to leap high, it might slow their turn. If she focused instead on turning around quickly, she might gain ground and perhaps make it first to the hanging bag. Then again, if the jump counted for a third of her score, a weak jump might guarantee last place even if she hit the bag hard.
Ahead of her, Rollan slowed a little and jumped, slapping the wall as high as he could. It was a respectable jump, but nothing extraordinary. Meilin decided to go for it.
As she leaped, Meilin felt a strange surge of energy, and kicked off the wall to increase the height of her jump. Conor sprang beside her, and although he was taller, she slapped the wall higher.
After landing she turned and ran hard. Conor was behind her now. Rollan was a good four paces ahead and going strong.
A piercing howl cut through the room. Briggan. Though Meilin tried to ignore the noise, goose bumps rose on her arm.
Conor streaked past Meilin and passed Rollan as well. He reached the bag several steps ahead of Rollan, jumped, and slammed into it with his shoulder. He rebounded roughly, spinning to the floor, and the bag only jounced a little.
Meilin realized she needed to take care how she hit the bag. It was clearly heavy. She would treat it like she was striking a wall.
Rollan threw a punch at the bag as he ran by. The bag absorbed the impact as if it were nothing. At least Conor had moved it.
Begging for energy from Jhi, Meilin left the ground and kicked with both legs. The massive bag swayed with the impact, but not a lot. She broke her fall with her hands and rose to her feet, panting.
“Are you all right, Conor?” Tarik asked.
He rose gingerly, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m okay.”
“You might have warned us it was full of rocks,” Rollan complained, massaging his wrist.
“Sand,” Tarik clarified. “Thoughts?”
“Not much beyond their natural talents,” the female Greencloak said.
“Except toward the end of Conor’s run,” one of the other Greencloaks pointed out.
“How did that feel?” Tarik asked.
“When Briggan howled?” Conor asked. “I don’t know — it was like I had the wind at my back. I felt more aggressive. I wasn’t planning to ram the sack, but it felt right.” He grimaced. “Until I hit it.”
The Greencloak near the jumping wall spoke up. “Meilin may have had a little boost when she jumped.”
“Did you feel it, Meilin?” Tarik asked.
“Maybe a little,” she replied. “To be honest, I mostly felt on my own.”
“If the panda had helped, she would have gone slower,” Rollan joked.
“You certainly punched like a bird,” Meilin shot back. “It was hard as a feather.”
“Whoa,” Rollan said, raising both hands. “Better not pick on the panda.”
“No squabbling,” Tarik ordered. “Your relationships with your animals are individual in nature. This isn’t a contest. I mainly wanted to make each of you more aware of your spirit animal and how you might learn to help one another.”
Meilin surveyed the canvas bag hanging from a beam near the far wall. Suspended by a chain, the bulging sack was taller than her and looked heavy.
“Will we do it at the same time?” Meilin asked.
“Yes,” Tarik said. “The first to reach the bag will strike it first, and so forth. We’ll evaluate your speed, the height of your leap, and the force with which you hit the bag. Go ahead and take a moment with your animals.”
Meilin approached Jhi. The panda sat on her hind legs and watched her serenely. Jhi licked one of her paws. The relaxed attitude did little to boost Meilin’s confidence.
“Can you help me with this?” Meilin asked. “Can you give me extra speed? Extra energy? I’ve never felt that from you. This might be a good time to start.”
The panda cocked her head as if mildly perplexed.
“Look,” Meilin whispered harshly. “Every minute we are stuck here in training is another minute that my father and his army have to struggle without us. I know you have power — you’re a Great Beast. So I need you to help me, because every delay helps our enemy. Do you understand? We’re not playing a game here. We are at war.”
Did Meilin sense a degree of understanding in that unblinking silver gaze? Or was it imagined?
The boys were heading to the wall, so Meilin trotted to join them. Her body was in good condition. Even though it had been a few weeks since a formal training session with the masters, she had engaged in regular routines while traveling to maintain her reflexes and endurance. The boys were taller, but she wasn’t slow, and she knew how to deliver vicious blows.
Briggan paced along one of the side walls, watching the three with a predator’s intensity. Essix flew up to roost on the beam above the suspended bag. Jhi sat where Meilin had left her, looking on silently.
Rollan smirked at her. “Did you have to run much in your palace?”
“I didn’t live in a palace,” Meilin replied. It was true, although she realized her home would probably look like a palace to Rollan or Conor. Assuming it still stood.
“I run fine,” Conor volunteered. “I haven’t done it much lately. How about you, Rollan?”
“Orphans have to run well,” he replied. “A slow orphan ends up in jail.”
“Weren’t you just in jail?” Meilin asked innocently.
“Are you ready?” Tarik called.
One Greencloak observer stood by them against the starting wall. Another was positioned by the wall where they would jump. And the third waited near the hanging sack. All three kids touched the wall behind them.
“Get ready,” Tarik said. “And . . . go!”
Meilin pushed off and ran as fast as she could. In her mind, she asked Jhi for greater speed, feeling somewhat ridiculous. It was hard to imagine extra speed coming from the sluggish panda. With swift spirit animals, Conor and Rollan had more cause for faith.
Meilin ran well, but as she approached the wall for the jump, Rollan was a few paces ahead, and Conor was about even with her. The dash felt like nothing beyond a regular sprint.
Meilin considered the jump. If the boys tried to leap high, it might slow their turn. If she focused instead on turning around quickly, she might gain ground and perhaps make it first to the hanging bag. Then again, if the jump counted for a third of her score, a weak jump might guarantee last place even if she hit the bag hard.
Ahead of her, Rollan slowed a little and jumped, slapping the wall as high as he could. It was a respectable jump, but nothing extraordinary. Meilin decided to go for it.
As she leaped, Meilin felt a strange surge of energy, and kicked off the wall to increase the height of her jump. Conor sprang beside her, and although he was taller, she slapped the wall higher.
After landing she turned and ran hard. Conor was behind her now. Rollan was a good four paces ahead and going strong.
A piercing howl cut through the room. Briggan. Though Meilin tried to ignore the noise, goose bumps rose on her arm.
Conor streaked past Meilin and passed Rollan as well. He reached the bag several steps ahead of Rollan, jumped, and slammed into it with his shoulder. He rebounded roughly, spinning to the floor, and the bag only jounced a little.
Meilin realized she needed to take care how she hit the bag. It was clearly heavy. She would treat it like she was striking a wall.
Rollan threw a punch at the bag as he ran by. The bag absorbed the impact as if it were nothing. At least Conor had moved it.
Begging for energy from Jhi, Meilin left the ground and kicked with both legs. The massive bag swayed with the impact, but not a lot. She broke her fall with her hands and rose to her feet, panting.
“Are you all right, Conor?” Tarik asked.
He rose gingerly, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m okay.”
“You might have warned us it was full of rocks,” Rollan complained, massaging his wrist.
“Sand,” Tarik clarified. “Thoughts?”
“Not much beyond their natural talents,” the female Greencloak said.
“Except toward the end of Conor’s run,” one of the other Greencloaks pointed out.
“How did that feel?” Tarik asked.
“When Briggan howled?” Conor asked. “I don’t know — it was like I had the wind at my back. I felt more aggressive. I wasn’t planning to ram the sack, but it felt right.” He grimaced. “Until I hit it.”
The Greencloak near the jumping wall spoke up. “Meilin may have had a little boost when she jumped.”
“Did you feel it, Meilin?” Tarik asked.
“Maybe a little,” she replied. “To be honest, I mostly felt on my own.”
“If the panda had helped, she would have gone slower,” Rollan joked.
“You certainly punched like a bird,” Meilin shot back. “It was hard as a feather.”
“Whoa,” Rollan said, raising both hands. “Better not pick on the panda.”
“No squabbling,” Tarik ordered. “Your relationships with your animals are individual in nature. This isn’t a contest. I mainly wanted to make each of you more aware of your spirit animal and how you might learn to help one another.”
