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Jara and Bradamante sat cross-legged on blankets inside their tent. Slivers of morning sunlight sneaked in through the lacing on the tent flap and several small holes in the sides of the fabric.
No one would bother them here. Jara still had more washing and mending to do, and she wanted to bring Astolpho and Michaela extra clothing and blankets before they left.
But this, right now, was more important. Getting rid of her fear—if she ever could—was more important.
Something had shifted inside Jara during the morning’s training session. Something that felt hard and sharp, like a blade she didn’t realized she had been carrying in her hand all along.
And if Bradamante was willing to take the time right now to teach her more, Jara did not want to waste a single moment on anything else.
