I know things have been really emotional and difficult lately, so hopefully this chapter is a bit of a break from that. But enjoy it while it lasts! We go back to the hard stuff next chapter.

Haschel took in deep, steady breaths. Ignoring the sweat threatening to bead into his closed eyes, he lifted his arms out, feeling his center shift, almost imperceptibly. Immediately, he adjusted, maintaining his balance on the narrow post as if it were something ingrained into him since birth. The salty breeze blew past him, lifting away the moisture from his scalp as he raised his right knee. Taking a moment to account for the change in weight, he pulled the air slowly through his nose and carefully pushed it out his mouth. Then gradually, he pushed off his heel until all his weight sat on the ball of his left foot. Supremely pleased at his lack of trembling, he held the position for over a minute, feeling his muscles flex and relax in tiny bursts as they kept him upright. He lowered his arms and bent his left knee, right leg extending straight before him, parallel to the ground. Following another minute, he shifted his weight onto his palms, the wooden post beneath him pressing against his skin until it threatened to break as he lifted his other foot and extended it before him, balancing all his weight on his hands.

His inner focus wavered as the sound of sand-padded footsteps crept up behind him, but he held his pose as they came ever closer. The gait was short, the steps cautious as he listened intently. They came to rest beside him.

"Shana," he said.

"How did you know it was me?" came her voice in reply.

Opening his eyes, Haschel turned to her, smiled, and winked. "I just know things." Then shifting his weight onto one hand, he pushed off dramatically, twisted in the air, and landed squarely on his feet, pushing little puffs of sand into the air. For a short moment, he stood, appreciating the beauty of the ocean before him.

About a week ago, Shana had come to tell them about this tranquil spot outside the city, and ever since, it had served as a sort of refuge from the insanity of Indels Castle. Since the king had announced Lavitz's funeral, everyone had gone into a frenzy trying to prepare everything. Apparently there was to be a banquet in Lavitz's honor, and they were expecting the entire city to show up. How they were supposed to feed that many people was beyond Haschel, but it wasn't his job to figure that out. His job was to ignore Albert's problems and help Shana with hers. And maybe Dart, eventually.

"So what brings you out here today?" he asked, turning toward her. "Albert's servants being too loud? Or maybe you were just longing for my company?"

Laughing, Shana shook her head and said, "Just wanting to be away from all the people for a while."

"Well, this is a pretty good place to come for that sort of thing. Might just be why I'm out here myself."

"Do you want to be alone?" asked Shana, suddenly worried that she had overstepped.

"No, just away from all the people," grinned Haschel. "Besides, your company always improves a situation if you ask me."

"Thank you," she replied. "That's sweet."

"That's all I ever am!"

They meandered closer to the crashing waves, Shana pausing to remove her shoes after a few steps. Haschel's already-bare feet pressed into the sand, grinding between his toes. It was an unpleasant feeling, but one he could easily ignore, especially when the first wave washed over them. The water was agreeably warm today.

"Have you heard anything from Dart?" asked Shana, her voice noticeably timid.

In a flash, Haschel's mind went back to that night that Dart had been so cruel. Haschel had heard the entire exchange from his room and had had to fight himself not to punch down Dart's door and throw him across the room. The kid might be strong, but Haschel was fairly certain he could still best him. Perhaps he should challenge Dart to a duel sometime.

"No," said Haschel grimly. "Haven't even seen him since we got here. But I'm pretty sure he's still going out to the woods every day. If he's not careful, he's going to burn down that whole forest."

"Yeah." Shana's reply was distant.

"But hey, no more distress signals. So he's probably fine. Just working through some things."

This time there was no reply.

Waiting, Haschel felt the water cover his feet and pull away, digging him deeper into the sand. Already his toes were buried, and with each gentle wave, he felt more of his foundation slide away.

"Would you teach me how to defend myself?" asked Shana suddenly, turning toward him with an eager spark in her eye.

"Shana, you're a dragoon. What are you talking about?"

"I want you to teach me some martial arts."

Haschel narrowed his eyes. "… Why?"

"Because a bow and arrow is good, but if an enemy ever gets close to me, I'm not very useful."

Choosing to ignore the flaws in that statement, Haschel eyed her closely. It was clear that this idea had spawned long ago and was just now coming to the surface. He'd noticed well before now that Shana usually waited until long after she should say something to actually bring herself to say it. And judging by her keen and sudden interest in his martial arts abilities, he was fairly certain that there was more to this than simply defending herself in a battle. But no matter. Training youths had been his job once, after all. He didn't need to know the reason to be able to teach her.

Instinctively, Haschel spaced apart his legs and folded his arms across his chest.

"Are you sure about this? I'm a tough teacher."

The slightest shift took place in her. Shana's head lifted, her shoulders and back straightened, and she looked at him with purpose. "Yes," she stated.

"Very well," nodded Haschel. Arms folded, he began.

"Lesson number one: one who is skilled in martial arts also has superior mental and bodily discipline. You are the master of your thoughts, feelings, and movements. Too often, we let our own bodies, or our feeble and fickle emotions take over, and this is when we have downfalls. To prove yourself worthy to be my student, you must first prove to me that you do not let outside circumstances rattle your focus."

A sort of fear trickled into Shana's fierce gaze at this speech, but Haschel paid it no mind. If she wanted to be his student, he would be her teacher. And this was how he taught.

Moving back out of the water, Haschel reached for Shana's shoes, took them out of her hand, and tossed them aside. She stood before him, determined but fearful, as he walked circles around her, sizing her up.

It was clear that Shana had no real experience with any sort of combat training. Her muscles were loose and shapeless, waiting for a clear direction. Her right arm was noticeably stronger than her left, no doubt from pulling back her bow, but it was also clear that she relied far too heavily on her dominant arm and leg. However, from what he knew of Shana, Haschel was fairly certain that her mental discipline was above average for someone of her age and training level. A lump of clay stood before him, waiting to be molded. Something tingled inside him at the thought.

"Close your eyes," he commanded; she obliged. "Relax your muscles. Focus on the sensations around you. Become aware of your body. Feel the sand, the wind, the sun on your skin. Feel your body. Start with your toes… Now your ankles… Calves… Waist… Chest… Arms… Neck… And head… Steady your breathing, and now feel all of them at once. Become aware of your body."

He watched as she struggled to calm herself completely. His slow words guided her, her muscles relaxing gradually as he spoke. After several long minutes, he paused. Her breaths came deliberately and paced, her eyes still closed, as he came to stand before her.

"This is the first step in any kind of martial arts. You must find this place where you are calm, where your mind is free from worry. Push away the deceptive emotions and let your body guide you."

For some time, they went on like this: Shana practicing relaxation techniques while Haschel gave subtle corrections to her breathing and posture. He couldn't help but be critical; if Shana wanted to be successful, she had to have the basics down. And so he poked and prodded until she finally complied.

Eventually, they moved on to balancing techniques. He helped her find her center and then tried to disturb it to see how she held herself.

"Find yourself," he said. "Anchor yourself to the ground. You are an immovable force."

He reached out and pushed her shoulder, and she stumbled backward.

"Immovable, Shana!" he cried. "Anchor yourself!"

After giving her precious few seconds to right herself, he pushed again, and she stumbled.

"You're better than this! Focus!"

Again, and again, and again, he pushed her, physically and emotionally. He saw the irritation in her eyes, the tension in her jaw. She was getting frustrated.

"Your emotions have no reign here, Shana. Keep yourself calm and composed."

To his delight, her breathing steadied, and she found another semblance of peace.

This pattern played out for the better part of an hour. Haschel pushed Shana to be better, to find a place of tranquility even in the middle of his seeming belligerence. More than once, she got close to snapping at him, light starting to pulse from her hands, but Haschel reminded her to find her center. He marveled at her ability to do so as well as she did, considering that this was her first day of training. And to his surprise, she never once asked to advance to actual fighting techniques. It reminded him of a time almost thirty years ago; of all his countless students, only Claire had ever possessed such control over her emotions.

A familiar anger and regret shot up into his heart at the memory, just as he went to push Shana once again. A yelp escaped her as she fell backward, plopping into the sand, and she looked up at him with curious and sympathetic eyes. Pulling his hand back, he felt small tingles of electricity on his fingertips, and immediately, guilt washed over his heart. He'd shocked her.

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. Embarrassed, he stood awkwardly, wondering exactly what to do for a moment before extending a hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her up. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "Are you?"

"Yeah!" he said hurriedly, forcing a broad grin over his face. "I guess I got a little too focused there for a second. Hazards of being a dragoon, I suppose. Let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow."

"Okay."

Shana's discerning eyes sliced through his cheerful exterior. It was an uncomfortably vulnerable feeling as she peered at him, and he quickly sought an exit.

"Good work today, Shana," he said even as he turned from her toward the ocean. "Maybe tomorrow we can put you on that post and see how you do."

"You think I can balance on that thing?" She eyed the post warily.

"With practice. And isn't that the point?"

"I suppose."

Plopping himself down in the sand, Haschel wrapped his arms around his knees, clasping his hands together. Shana followed suit and sat next to him. For a short time, they sat in silence, enjoying the sound of the ocean, until Shana spoke up.

"Lavitz's funeral is in two days," she said with a small voice.

"Finally, we'll get some good food."

After shooting him a sour look, she added, "I just hope Dart comes."

"Rose will find a way to get him there, I'm sure. She is quite terrifying." When Shana didn't reply, Haschel added, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so."

Now it was his turn to pry at her as he watched her expression carefully. Surprisingly, he found a curious strength in her, not overshadowing her pain, but rising in reaction to it. Haschel knew and well understood her worry for Dart and her grief for Lavitz, and yet she rose above it. She'd shown herself to be different from Dart, refusing to be overcome by her own emotions and instead fighting through them, ultimately climbing above them. No wonder she'd swallowed her irritation at his training so well; she'd been swallowing her irritation at Dart for weeks now.

"I think so, too," he said before turning back to watch the waves.

The sun was quite warm today, abnormally so, and he considered stepping out into the ocean to cool himself. In the far distance, he could just make out dark clouds forming over the sea. As the salty breeze buffeted his face, tossing about his hair and his moustache, he wondered if the storm would make its way over to them. But as he watched it, it appeared to be drifting away from them toward the northeast. Storms in Rouge had always come in from the southeast. Such deluges they would release on their tiny town that parts of it would sometimes be swept away.

"Thank you for being there all this time," whispered Shana.

"It's what I'm here for," he replied simply. After a pause, he said, "You know, you remind me of my daughter."

"I think you've told me that before," said Shana, her voice all kindness.

"It wouldn't surprise me," he chuckled. "You always have."

"You said you trained her, too?"

Haschel nodded. "I did. She had exceptional skill. She easily could have bested me with just a few more years of training. I used to dream of her taking over my place as the master of the Rouge school when she got old enough."

"How old was she when she left?"

"Nineteen. About your age, I guess. That must be part of why I think you're so similar."

"Probably."

"She was truly amazing, though. So kind, and yet she could easily best any of the other recruits in her class." Haschel grinned as a memory resurfaced. "One time, a little brat of a boy teased her and called her weak, and she planted her fist in his belly. Poor kid threw up and ran away crying."

"That must have been a sight!" laughed Shana.

"Oh, yes! He never messed with her again. And we used to have tournaments where all the kids that were the same age competed, and almost every year they had to put her in the next age bracket just so that she could have a worthy challenger."

"You must have been very proud."

"I was…" Haschel remembered Claire's smile and her laugh, the way she would fidget when she got thoughtful. And he remembered her tears and her rage. "I didn't say it enough, though."

Placing a hand on Haschel's arm, Shana said, "I'm sure she knew."

"Eh, maybe."

The conversation was swaying into uncomfortably personal territory that he was not quite ready to traverse, and he clapped his hands together suddenly.

"Well, that's enough sad stuff. We've had way too much of it lately." Then jumping to his feet, he said, "Let's do something fun!"

"Like what?"

"Let's go into town and shop around for a bit."

"Didn't we come out here to avoid the people?"

Haschel shrugged and extended his hand to her, which she grabbed to pull herself up. "I think most of the people we're avoiding are in the castle. We can wander around, see the sights."

Shana narrowed her eyes as she peered at him and said, "You just want to visit a pub, don't you?"

Scoffing, Haschel replied, "Preposterous! I simply wanted to spend time with you. I am offended that you assumed otherwise."

She laughed and shook her head at him.

After wiping off uncomfortable amounts of sand clinging to their clothing and skin, they marched their way back toward the city. It did not take long for them to arrive, coming to the small city gate in just a few minutes. With a purposed step and some light conversation, Haschel led them through the small streets, which grew steadily larger until they reached closer to the center of town. Presently, several stalls crowded the curbs, their vendors calling out for patrons, and Haschel noticed Shana's curious eyes turn toward them. Nonchalantly, he steered them over toward the stalls, and was pleased to see excitement spread across her face.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was trying to compensate for his rough treatment of her during their training. He ignored it.

Several of the vendors were selling vegetables or meats or other edible goods, but most of them focused on wares. Woven blankets, colorful pottery, various utensils, and even some deadly weaponry could be seen laid out, ready for someone to choose and purchase them. For a time, Haschel simply let Shana wander, grinning at her excitement with each interesting piece she found. Multiple items were entrancing enough that she simply had to turn and show it to him in all its glory before taking it back, eyeing it for another moment, and setting it back down. Noting the prices on several of Shana's favorite items, Haschel reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny coin sack. While Shana was turned away, he spilled the contents into his hand and counted them: twenty-six.

I should ask the king for a pay raise, he thought cynically as he replaced the coins. With my skills, I should be able to earn four times this much in a week.

He was being generous with himself, but when was he not?

They continued their circuit around the town square, where most of the major business of the city took place. The square was cut in half by a small river, fed by the Serdian Mountains to the south, that rushed through the city on its way to the lake surrounding the castle. A great fountain with walkways on either side formed a bridge across the river, all formed with the same tawny sandstone that adorned all the buildings. Haschel couldn't decide if he was impressed by the coordination or exhausted by it.

As he fought with himself over whether to buy Shana a gift, Haschel couldn't help but peer at her. Although they were completely different people, he really did see much of Claire in Shana. None of the physical features or mannerisms, of course – Shana certainly didn't share his blood – but their spirits were quite similar. Claire had been such a free-spirited young girl, ready and willing to fight and yet eager to chase the wind all the way to the other side of the ocean. They both seemed to care so deeply about those around them, and both responded similarly to his teaching methods. So if Shana still cared so much about him, what had gone wrong twenty-five years ago?

With a flinch, Haschel remembered Claire's face that day, and the tears that streamed down it. The image of a mug of ale surfaced instantly in his mind, and a strong desire to seek one out came with it, but a quick glance to Shana convinced him otherwise. He knew how much she hated going to taverns, even if she'd never said much about it. Without the others, there was little chance that she would enjoy herself. He'd have to be content with shopping around for the perfect gift.

With sudden realization, he approached Shana and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Follow me," he mumbled as he moved past her and struck a path toward a side street.

"What?" she asked in confusion. "Where are we going?"

"If I told you, that would take the fun out of it." He winked at her.

They maneuvered between streams of people until they reached the street. Haschel followed his distant memories of Bale from the past couple years to guide him left and then right until he finally reached a little shop with nothing in the way of signage except a sheet of metal shaped like a hammer dangling from the porch. Walking up to the door, Haschel eyed a red glow behind the building and stepped inside confidently.

"A blacksmith shop?" said Shana curiously as she crossed the threshold. "But I don't…"

Adorning the walls were all manner of smithed items, mostly farmer's tools and simple hunting knives. But one section boasted a decent collection of weaponry. Marching over, Haschel began eyeing his options: several daggers, some throwing knives, a hefty war axe, at least six different styles of sword, and even a war hammer. But he wasn't keen on the idea of trying to swing around something that heavy; he preferred to rely on his own speed and precision over brute force. But he focused in on the daggers as Shana stepped up cautiously next to him.

"Why are we here?" she whispered with a nervous glance toward the paying counter. Nobody was in sight.

Most of the daggers were somewhat crude – quickly made and priced low at only three or four gold each. A couple had some finer craftsmanship and were priced as high as twelve. But what caught his eye was a masterpiece of a dagger. Clearly, the smith had taken his time with this item. Ten inches long, the blade gleamed brightly in the sunlight shining down from a nearby window. The steel was clean and sturdy, the hilt ribbed and sure, the crossguard strong and secure. Carefully, Haschel picked it up, eyeing it closely, noting the intricate carvings on the pommel and middle of the blade, simple and yet elegant. Although he'd never been one for weapons, he knew how to use them, and he knew how to spot good craftsmanship. And this was excellent.

"What do you think?" he asked Shana, handing it to her hilt-first.

Clearly confused, she reluctantly took hold of the dagger and held it awkwardly.

"It's nice, but…" She shook her head. "Why?"

"You want to be able to protect yourself, right?"

"Yes…"

"Then use this to do that."

Her eyes flitted up to meet his with a look of surprise mixed with gratitude as she realized his intent. With another wink, he turned and spotted the corresponding scabbard – stiff leather, delicately carved and reinforced with strips of bright steel – before picking it up and sliding it back over the blade. Taking the weapon from her, he quickly noted the price dangling on a small tag and did his best not to react in disapproval. The dagger cost twenty-five gold.

Pretending like it was nothing, Haschel approached the counter and set the dagger on it, waiting expectantly for someone to show up. After a few seconds, he turned to her.

"We could just take it. Nobody would know."

A disapproving look crossed her face, and he smirked before turning back and shouting, "Hello!"

Perhaps a minute later, a scruffy-looking man hobbled through the open door in the back of the shop, eyes staring out from under his bushy eyebrows as he approached. He looked somewhere between old and decrepit and strong enough to split an oak log with his bare hands. A surprisingly smooth voice reverberated out between a poorly maintained moustache and beard.

"What can I do for you?"

Absentmindedly stroking his immaculately maintained moustache, Haschel nodded toward the dagger. "We'd like to buy that," he announced.

Glancing down, the smith took the dagger and checked the price tag. "Seems a bit fancy for someone the looks of you."

Haschel grinned at the unintended challenge and heard Shana shift uncomfortably behind him. He leaned forward, placing his bulky arms on the counter. "Maybe I just like my weapons to be flashy to throw off my enemies."

The smith looked up at him with narrow, confused eyes before saying, "Twenty-five gold."

"Eighteen."

There was a pause. "Twenty-three."

"Nineteen."

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty and we have a deal."

Aged eyes turned up to look at Haschel, but he did not turn away. His determined mind envisioned the stock full of mead at a local pub and the money he would need to dish out to get a taste of that mead. He loved Shana, but… well, he just needed a couple hours off.

At long last, Haschel saw the will give way in his opponent, and the smith's shoulders sagged slightly as he surrendered.

"Twenty it is," he muttered.

Grinning triumphantly, Haschel dug into his pocket and retrieved the appropriate payment before slapping it onto the counter, grabbing the dagger, and heading straight for the door with his clean-shaven chin high.

"Thank you so much," came Shana's kind voice behind him, apologetic as she spoke to the smith. He blinked. More than once, Claire had done the very same thing when he'd been too distracted to thank someone for their service.

Back in the street, he took several steps from the building and turned to Shana, holding out the dagger. She grinned up at him as she wrapped her hand around the scabbard and took it.

"Now, my young pupil," said Haschel, mustering all the pomp he could. Shana giggled. "I give to you this dagger as a symbol of all you have gone through. May you use it to vanquish all who oppose you. Now." He paused and grinned, relaxing his formal stance. "Take that back to the castle and relax for a while. I'm going to hit the town—"

"Go for a drink," Shana corrected.

He shook his head in feigned disbelief. "See the sights," he protested, "and we will continue your training tomorrow."

She smiled warmly, gratitude written all over her face, before surprising him with a forceful embrace. Surrendering to her affection, he closed his arms around her.

How many times had Claire given him hugs like this? As soon as she could walk, she'd charged over to squeeze him as tightly as her tiny arms could.

Shana pulled away and said, "Thank you, Haschel."

"Anytime."

They followed the same path back to the town square, where Haschel bid Shana farewell and turned left as she headed right toward Indels Castle.

Some days were harder than others. Some days, Claire was a distant memory, nothing more than a footnote in his own history. And then there were days like this. Some days, the pain was sharp and deep. And those were the days he tried to force himself to forget.

As he made his way toward the tavern, the six coins bouncing around in his pocket, he considered whether they would be enough to get him as drunk as he wanted to be. He wasn't sure – perhaps they'd raised their prices since his last visit – but it was at least worth a try.