Private The Quiet Pursuit

[Sera Dragovalor]

Sera laughed softly, shaking her head.

"I'll consider myself warned." A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Though it's reassuring to know you'll notice when I actually do something right. I was beginning to think I'd spend the entire session learning just how creative I can be with my mistakes."

She found herself smiling more easily than she had when she'd first wandered into the courtyard. The nervousness and uncertainty she'd carried with her that morning had settled into something quieter. Not gone, but no longer demanding all of her attention. It occurred to her that she hadn't thought about the long list of things waiting for her once since they'd sat down.

"I'd like that," she said sincerely. "The training, I mean." Her eyes drifted toward the courtyard before returning to him. "And... I think it would be good to have someone who's willing to point out what I miss instead of just telling me whether I passed or failed."

His comment about thinking loudly drew another laugh.

"I have a feeling you'll be saying that a lot." She rested her hands on the bench beside her, looking out toward the rain. "Though maybe that's not such a bad thing. Baby steps, right? Thinking quietly first." She smiled to herself. "Then maybe one day I'll manage actual silence."

She looked back toward him, warmth replacing the uncertainty that had marked the beginning of their conversation.

"I'm glad I decided to wander today, Prosen." She smiled. "I think I made a new friend."

Prosen Dibs

 

[Prosen Dibs]

"Creative mistakes are often the most useful kind," Prosen said. "They reveal weaknesses no sensible instructor would think to anticipate."

The slight curve of his smile made it clear that he was teasing.

"You will know when you do something correctly. I see no value in withholding praise when it has been earned. Knowing what to preserve is as important as knowing what to change."

Her comment about being guided rather than merely judged drew a small nod from him. Too much instruction ended with success or failure, as though either word explained anything meaningful.

"Passing and failing describe an outcome," he said. "They do not explain how you arrived there. I would rather help you understand why something worked—or why it did not—so that eventually you will recognize the difference without waiting for someone else to decide it for you."

Perhaps that was true of more than training.

Her return to meditation earned another quiet laugh.

"Baby steps," he agreed. "Though I would not make complete silence your goal. Falling asleep accomplishes that very efficiently, and most instructors are reluctant to count it."

He inclined his head toward her.

"Thinking quietly is enough. Understanding what you are thinking would be better."

The rain had faded to scattered drops falling from the shelter's edge. The courtyard seemed calmer than it had when she first arrived.

Prosen realized he felt much the same.

He had begun the morning carrying the lingering weight of his last mission, hoping repetition and exertion might work it loose. Twenty-six passages through the kata had done little more than tire him. Yet somewhere between Sera's interruption, her questions, and the answers neither of them had expected to give, something within him had shifted.

Not entirely. Balance was rarely recovered so neatly.

But enough.

Her final words settled into the quiet between them.

Prosen had never believed friendship depended entirely upon time. Two people could know one another for years without ever speaking honestly, while a single conversation could create an understanding that familiarity had failed to produce.

Sera had trusted him with thoughts she had not realized she was carrying. In turn, she had reminded him that helping someone did not always require a mission or a crisis.

Sometimes it meant sitting beside them and listening.

"I am glad you wandered as well," he said.

There was no formality in the answer.

"I expected to spend the morning repeating the same movements until exhaustion persuaded my mind to cooperate. Your interruption proved considerably more effective."

He turned toward her fully.

"And yes, Sera. I believe you did make a new friend."

His smile softened.

"As did I."

The admission came easily. There was no reason to treat friendship as something granted only after enough meetings had passed. It began wherever trust first took root.

"Which means," he continued, dry amusement returning to his voice, "that I am now responsible for pointing out when you are thinking too loudly, explaining your mistakes in excessive detail, and ensuring our training causes more improvement than injury."

His smile widened slightly.

"I take such responsibilities seriously."

Prosen leaned back against the bench, comfortable in the silence they now shared.

"For what it is worth, you helped me as well. I came here believing I needed solitude to recover my balance." His head tilted faintly. "It appears I was mistaken."

He listened to the last of the rain slipping from the roof.

"So I am glad you could not meditate. I am glad you interrupted my kata."

His expression warmed.

"And I am glad to call you my friend."

Sera Dragovalor