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She still notices him, of course. She's not sure she'll ever be able not to.
But now, the heiress's wounded eyes prod at her conscience. She knows she's hurt the other girl—inadvertently, perhaps, but hurt her nonetheless.
That's what drives her to sit her new friend down, confess everything that had happened, and promise that there will be no such incidents in the future. Whatever it is that she feels for her rangy, amber-eyed former teammate, she won't be acting upon it.
The secret, she learns, is already out, pried from the sweet-faced junior brother. But whatever else happens, there will be no further rivalry between herself and the heiress. They've seen to it.
But oh, spirits, it's painful. The ancient soul might accept it with sad resignation; after all, in so many lifetimes, the occasional heartbreak is inevitable. But the girl, like any other young thing, can hurt.
She cries that night, and the next. Pours herself into her training. Spends most of her leisure time alone, or in the sole company of her great white-furred spirit guide—the one friend she has who's guaranteed not to ask any uncomfortable questions about him.
This goes on for some time. But then it happens: She catches herself—much to her complete astonishment—idly daydreaming about not him, but his brother.
It's just the green-eyed boy's sunny nature, she initially tells herself. She can let her guard down around him. But then, little things begin to stick in her mind. Some new edge of resolve to his still-lighthearted demeanor, perhaps; or just the power evident in his stocky young frame. One way or the other, something has changed.
She's no longer sure what to think.