Violet
I lost count of how many times I hit the ground that afternoon.
Ten? Twenty? More?
Each time, Ila's voice would cut through the pain and humiliation: "Again."
And each time, I would drag myself back to my feet, settle into my stance, and try to do better.
I didn't.
Toda was relentless, moving with mechanical efficiency and exploiting every hesitation, every moment of overthinking, every fraction of a second where my body lagged behind my mind.
Sweep. Ground. "Again."
Feint and strike. Ground. "Again."
Grapple and throw. Ground. "Again."
My body accumulated bruises. My lungs burned. My muscles screamed. The sun climbed higher, then began its descent, and still we continued.
The watching wolves gradually drifted away to their own concerns, their interest waning as the spectacle became repetitive. Violet gets knocked down. Violet gets back up. Violet gets knocked down again.
I hated it.
It hurt.
