Daintiness. There was a level of that in her grasp. Based simply on guess, he'd say that accepting help wasn't so much an acceptance of aid as it was a habit of whatever her past was. That interested him, but he reminded himself to keep this interaction professional. He watched and sensed her ascent. He could tell what she was doing, and was satisfied with her growing confidence in the Force. In her ability to utilise it. It was basic, and took more fiddling than what he was used to seeing, but it was there and it was reliable.
"I've learned that you will catch me when I fall."
"Indeed," he responded,
"But you cannot always rely on that." he told her.
That led to a new consideration. He looked up, and wondered on leading by example. He gave himself a soft, thoughtful hum, and nodded once, slowly. He took his first step, then set off at a run.
The first few platforms were easy enough. Small skips and jumps that would be more challenging for smaller people. As it went on, he found himself gripping to the walls and shimmying along narrower walkways. Throughout the whole course, he didn't rely on the Force for anything more than heightening his awareness. At one point he slipped, and he grabbed on to the ledge tightly. He allowed himself to forget he was a Master of the Force and in that came a degree of fear of falling. Why did he allow himself to forget? Because in this, he couldn't rely on the shaky grasp of an apprentice, and at any moment his control over himself could falter in the bubble of a Ysalamir. There was no peace of mind in knowing the Force right now, so he disallowed himself that comfort.
He hauled himself back up, and continued his ascent. The jumps became wider, the climbs became more treacherous. He felt the shocking breathlessness of being robbed of the Force with almost every leap he took, and that sent an instinctual jolt up his spine and down his fingers. It came to the point where every shelf had to be climbed onto, and where every reach for a hand or foothold was a leap of faith unto itself. Then he came to the end. The Archon of the Obsidian Order, perched upon the precipice of victory or potential disaster. His eyes flicked downward, and the chamber seemed even higher from above than it did from below. He could feel the hesitation and fear in his heart and mind. It manifested itself as an ache in his knuckles, a gumminess of his feet, and a quickening of his heart. He gritted his teeth, and blazed forward as fast as he could muster.
He leapt.
Midway through the hurdle, he questioned if he would make it. He felt gravity weighing heavily upon him. The Ysalamir's bubble made him feel alone and powerless. In a time where he felt like he could take on an army, he felt decidedly... mortal. His hands met the ledge and he tightened his grip. He hung there for a time, muscles not quite agreeing with his mind that he made the jump. He shook off the shock and strained to pull himself up onto the narrow ledge. He gained footing, slipped, then recovered, and sidled his way to the ladder. Upon it he climbed, and then looked down to [member="Rhea Nin"]. He couldn't contain the giddy grin that decorated his face. This was the first true challenge he'd faced in a long time, and to overcome it felt
good.