The heavy smoke settled in her lungs, making it hard to breathe. As the heat melted the hard earth of the huts into mud and shots of fire raged in the background, she hid her face in the neck of her father holding her. Although traveling in nondescript areas of the town, where the fight hadn't reached yet, she could occasionally feel him come to an abrupt stop, and soon after, his foot coming down to send a blast of earth towards anyone following them.

Finally, they made their way to their beloved hut. Making sure that he and his daughter hadn't been followed, he lifted the rug that had been resting on the dirt floor, revealing the cellar-like room that he had so painstakingly made underneath the hut. As he carried his young daughter down the long, winding steps, he waved his hand behind his head and a great wall of earth formed over the entrance to the cellar, leaving behind no traces of the hideout underneath the traditional earthen hut.

The air was clear, and the smoke wasn't down in the room so far from the fight, yet the closed off air remained just as hot and stifling as outside. Setting his child down, the worn father made his way around the room, preparing it for the night to come.

Even removed from her loving father's chest, the girl felt as though she could still hear it pounding from across the room. Bringing her hand to her chest to calm her own erratic breathing, she was surprised to find that the pounding in her ears wasn't because of her father's heart, but her own. It beat hard against her chest in a way that she could only describe as painful.

She sat down, sliding down the rough wall, and hugged her small legs to her chest. Looking around the room, she saw that it's round walls were lined with rows and rows of yellowed scrolls. On the one wall that wasn't covered in scrolls, were several woven baskets. The child opened her mouth to ask her father a question, but it was a question that couldn't be answered, as no sound come out of her mouth. Goosebumps lined her arms as her ears rang with the sound of fire hissing and her town's scream. She redirected her eyes back to the man that had raised her pulling down seemingly specific scrolls from the walls, and drew comfort from looking at his familiar, sun worn face. The sounds faded away. Curious, she watched him reach down into one of the baskets, and pulled out two long, thin sticks. Piling them into the bundle he was carrying, she watched him not only reach down into the third basket, but haul the whole thing up at once.

As he sat everything down neatly, he gestured for the girl to come near. Standing on shaking legs, she made her way over to him and sat down at his side. Looking down at the now unrolled scrolls, the yellowed pages were filled with drawings, some smudged, of a figure going through motions step-by-step. The most interesting ones were the ones were the ones where the figure seemed to be controlling water. Bending scrolls.

"What is this, Papa?"

He pointed to a specific scroll. Instead of answering her question, he asked his own. "Can you tell me what pressing this pressure point might do?" The girl already knew the answer to her own question, and he didn't want to waste a single minute.

They had a lot of training to do.