The Next Morning
Aldric woke to the sound of his own groaning.
The pain was different today. Not the sharp, screaming pain of yesterday—that had faded into something deeper. More solid. A weight that pressed on him from everywhere at once.
He lay still, taking inventory.
Ribs: sore but stable. Back: tight but movable. Arms: heavy but functional. Legs: questionable but willing.
Progress, he thought. I think.
He sat up. Slowly. Carefully. His body complained with every movement—small protests, not the full rebellion of yesterday.
He dressed. Walked outside.
The sky was just beginning to lighten.
---
Mirena was already at the training ground.
Standing in the center, staff in hand, waiting. She looked like she'd been there for hours. Maybe she had. With Mirena, it was impossible to tell.
"You're early," she said.
"You're earlier."
"I live here now. I've accepted it."
Aldric almost smiled. Almost.
He picked up his staff from where he'd left it yesterday. The wood felt familiar now. Not comfortable—comfort was years away—but familiar. He knew its weight, its balance, the way it moved through the air.
"Today," Mirena said, "we walk."
Aldric blinked. "Walk?"
"You fell in place yesterday. Today you fall while walking. Simple addition."
Nothing about this felt simple.
But he nodded anyway. "Show me."
---
Mirena demonstrated.
She walked across the training ground—ordinary steps, nothing special. Then, without warning, she fell. Her body folded, rolled, came up walking. The staff never left her hand. She didn't even pause.
"See?"
Aldric had seen. He hadn't understood. But he'd seen.
"Your turn."
He walked.
Tried to fall.
Stumbled. Caught himself. Stood there, frustrated.
"Again."
He walked. Tried to fall. Stumbled. Caught himself.
"Again."
Again.
Again.
Again.
---
By mid-morning, he'd managed three actual falls.
Not good falls. Not smooth falls. But falls where he actually hit the ground and rolled instead of catching himself. Three out of probably fifty attempts.
Mirena watched each one. Said nothing. Just nodded occasionally and said "again."
Aldric's body was a map of new bruises. Old bruises from yesterday, now joined by fresh ones. He looked like someone had used him for target practice.
"We're stopping," Mirena said suddenly.
Aldric blinked. "What?"
"Stopping. For now. You're tired. Tired means sloppy. Sloppy means bad habits." She leaned on her staff. "Rest. Eat. Come back this afternoon."
Aldric stared at her.
She never stopped. Never. Training always continued until he couldn't stand.
"Why?"
Mirena met his eyes. "Because you're learning. Actually learning. I won't ruin that by pushing you into exhaustion." A pause. "That comes later."
He didn't know what to say.
So he just nodded. Limped toward the cookfire.
Behind him, Mirena watched for a long moment. Then she started her own practice—forms, movements, the endless discipline of someone who'd been training her whole life.
---
Lira found him at the cookfire.
"You're alive," she said, sitting beside him.
"Barely."
"Mirena let you stop early. That's new."
Aldric looked at her. "She said I was learning. Didn't want to ruin it."
Lira's eyebrows rose. "She said that?"
"More or less."
"Huh." She stared into the fire for a moment. "She doesn't say things like that. Ever. To anyone."
Aldric frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean Mirena doesn't praise. Doesn't encourage. Doesn't do anything that might make you feel good about yourself." Lira glanced at him. "If she said you're learning—actually said it—that means something."
Aldric didn't know what to do with that.
So he ate his porridge and tried not to think about it.
---
Afternoon training was harder.
Walking falls, but faster now. Mirena pushed the pace—not content with simple walking, she wanted him moving at a steady clip before falling.
Aldric fell. A lot.
But he also rolled. Sometimes. And when he rolled, he kept the staff. And when he kept the staff, he came up ready.
By sunset, he could fall, roll, and keep walking without stopping.
Not smoothly. Not gracefully. But without stopping.
Mirena nodded once. "Enough."
Aldric collapsed.
Lay on the frozen ground, staring at the darkening sky, breathing in great gasps of cold air.
"You did well," Mirena said. Quietly. Like the words cost her something.
Aldric couldn't respond. Could barely think.
But he heard her.
And somewhere beneath the exhaustion, he felt something warm.
---
That night, Grog found him at the fire.
Aldric sat alone, staring into the flames, his staff across his knees. He looked different than he had a month ago. Leaner. Harder. More focused.
Grog sat beside him. Said nothing.
They sat in silence for a long time.
Finally, Aldric spoke.
"She said I did well."
Grog nodded.
"Mirena. She actually said it. Out loud."
"Must have meant it then."
Aldric looked at him. "Does it get easier?"
Grog considered the question. "No. But you get stronger. So it feels easier."
Aldric turned back to the fire.
"Twenty-three more years," he said quietly.
"Twenty-three more years."
Another long silence.
Then Aldric: "I think I can do it."
Grog looked at him. At the firelight on his face. At the new lines there—lines that hadn't existed a month ago.
"I know you can," Grog said.
They sat together until the fire burned low.