He cupped a soft place beneath my sternum. “This is your diaphragm, here. Let your lungs fill from the bottom to the top. Compress your stomach to make room. To release the breath, push up from here.” He pressed my lower belly. “Squeeze from the bottom up. And, damn, Cobane, breathe through your nose. You sound like a congested power fan.”

He was so close, I forgot to take offense. Instead, I smiled a little. I’d never seen him so bothered. His face screwed up, uncharacteristically. Bent over me, his wide shoulders blotted out the sky. A succulent curiosity wet my palms and I gave into it, pressing a shy hand to his torso.

I was about to speak when he swallowed audibly. “No—no questions. Close your mouth.”

I did, withdrawing my hand.

“Now, breathe and concentrate on what I said.”

I wet my lips. Inhaling through my nose, I dropped my diaphragm and filled my lungs from the bottom, just as he said. I pictured making room for the air in my body and, slowly, my gut inflated. I held the breath, then squeezed my lower belly until it deflated. “I did it!” I said.

Hosea dropped his hands to his sides; his mouth tilted at one corner. “Very good.” He rocked back on his heels. He’d turned to go to bed when I stopped him.

“Is that how you managed to stay on the post?” I asked.

He was still for so long, I thought he wouldn’t answer. He turned back. “Breath is life, Cobane. It’s how I completed the challenge. It’s how I do anything.” He took my hand and placed it back on his abdomen. “Close your eyes.”

In the dark, I felt him breathe for several seconds.

“In and out, in and out,” he said. “It’s a circle. A perfect exchange.” He let go of my hand and I opened my eyes.

“You push out weakness.” He pushed his arms forward, palms flat. “And you take in power.” He separated his hands, then raised them over his head. In a smooth motion, he closed his palms like a praying mantis and pulled them down in front of his chest. Without stopping, he pressed them out again, palms up, completing the cycle. “It’s a circle,” he repeated. “A perfect exchange.”

I followed along as he continued the pattern, breathing in and out with each movement. “I can feel it,” I said. “You call it power, but it calms me to my core.”

“Good,” he said. “In combat, we use the breath to fight. But, its power is peaceful and immeasurable.”

I frowned. “Immeasurable, because we can’t see it?” I asked.