### The Training Ground at Evening
The light had gone orange.
It came through the trees at the low angle of late afternoon — the training ground catching it on the flat side, the packed earth and the wooden posts and the rope courses all going amber in the failing day, the shadows long and soft across the ground where, scattered at intervals like fallen leaves, four women lay.
Celia was face-down.
Her cheek against the dirt. Her arms out. Her chest moving — she was breathing, that was confirmed — but the rest of her was committed entirely to the ground's support, her body having apparently decided some time ago that down was the only viable direction.
Nara was on her back.
Her eyes were open. She was staring at the orange sky with the particular expression of someone who has had a revelation about the relationship between ambition and muscle failure and is not yet sure how she feels about it.
Marla was sitting.
