Dance
Mara's first day of rehearsals is excruciatingly painful. "You'll adjust," the other girls reassure her.
But she never does. She faces the wrong direction, turns too early, counting each sore muscle and bruised limb as progress. She loves the sense of oneness between her body and her surroundings, but dance just doesn't come easily to her. Like her other training, she has to focus on every single step-and even when she's mastered them, the running litany in her head keeps her from completely flowing into the rhythm of the dance.
Years later, her finesse seems second nature. But when someone dismisses her elegance as just old "dancer's grace," her temper flares-the memory of those carefully acquired callouses still fresh in her mind.