At the end of the day, Rezkin and the other men hauled buckets of cool water out of the river and dumped them over their heads to rinse away the sweat. The cooks vacated the galley for a short while to allow Frisha to wash herself with river water in a small tub. That night, Rezkin lay down in the bunk closest to the door, while Tam insisted Frisha sleep in the bunk closest to the wall. Halfway through the night, though, Frisha ordered Tam to switch with her after the young man had already fallen out of his bunk three times. She argued that at least by the wall he would only have one direction to fall. Rezkin thought it must have been effective, because Tam did not fall out of his bunk for the rest of the night.

The next day was much the same as the previous day. At first, Tam and Frisha both complained quite loudly that they were too tired and sore to practice. Frisha was nearly incapable of lifting her arms high enough to comb her hair, much less hold a sword. Tam tried to be brave and push through the pain and fatigue, but it was apparent that he was miserable.

On the second night, Rezkin stayed on deck late to practice his own forms. There were no lanterns on the quarterdeck, so his practice was completely enclosed by the dark of night. He was used to night training, so it did not hinder him, and he did not have to worry over anyone getting a good look at his blades.

Unseen by the young warrior, many of the soldiers and sailors watched his silhouette dance about in the moonlight with unparalleled speed and grace.

When Rezkin returned to the berth, Tam and Frisha were already abed. He could hear Tam snoring softly, but Frisha was quiet as a mouse on the other side of the canvas. One of the lanterns had been left aglow for his benefit. Rezkin removed his belt and settled his swords against his bunk. He cast off his boots and stretched his arms and torso as he shucked his tunic. Finally, he removed his pants and replaced them with a pair that was clean and dry.

Frisha kept quiet as she spied on Rezkin. She knew she should not be looking, but she could only see a vague form, anyway. The warrior’s dark silhouette slid across the golden canvas as he removed his clothing. His magnificent torso stretched like a giant black cat, and her mind superimposed the image of all those perfect muscles and taut skin that was burned into her memory back at the inn.