Ayren's words clung to Soren like frost. "Know them better than they know themselves."
The memory of that cold voice followed him into the training yard, where morning light cast long shadows across packed dirt. His muscles still ached from yesterday's session with Kaelor, but the pain had become a familiar companion, almost comforting in its constancy.
Soren settled against the stone wall, legs stretched before him as if resting. The practice sword lay across his lap, his bandaged hands resting lightly on the worn wood. To any observer, he appeared to be catching his breath between drills.
But his eyes never stopped moving.
'Not about making friends,' he reminded himself, watching Tavren demonstrate a complex parry to his usual circle of admirers. 'About survival.'
