That night, Ash was tossing and turning in her bed. 

The tent was more spacious and cozier than it looked from the outside. It had a small wooden bed, a nightstand, a table, a couple of chairs, a chest with spare clothes, and a small brazier. The floor was slightly elevated and covered with a large round rug spread on top of wooden planks.

Skarlag and Myra’s fight kept replaying in her head.

There’s no way I’ll be able to match these beasts in just one year. I can’t even do a single push-up! she thought.

She heard animals howling and hooting right outside. She shuddered and sank deeper under the wool blankets. 

But I have to admit they were pretty badass.

She closed her eyes and looked for ways to ease the apprehension wringing her guts. She thought about Myra and their walk across town. 

Those cream puffs seemed really far away now. 

The next morning, the ice-cold water dropped on Ash’s face with a loud splash. Her eyes snapped open. She gasped and shot up in her bed.  

Skarlag was looming over her, her usually ginger hair looking brown in the darkness of the tent. 

“Get dressed,” she said before leaving. 

“Good jolly morning to you too!” Ash shouted after her, wiping her face. 

She ducked out of the tent and looked up. The stars were still visible in the sky. She could see her breath as she walked to the tall figure standing at the center of the arena. She rubbed her arms to warm herself up. 

Skarlag motioned for Ash to come to her side. “We’ll structure each day in the following manner: the first half of the day will be dedicated to building up your strength and endurance.” With a long stick, she traced a seven in the sand. “The second half will be dedicated to technique training. Then, we’ll finish with meditation.” She added another seven and a one below the first figure. 

Ash shuddered, half because of the cold, and half of dread. 

“Which will leave a couple of hours for meals and grooming, and about seven hours of rest,” the general concluded. “Any questions?”

The brown-haired woman's shoulders drooped a little lower at the sight of the numbers drawn in the sand. 

“I can’t wait to get started,” she said with a feeble smile.

The water spilled on the ground. Ash cursed in her head. She was too out of breath to do it out loud. 

“The more water you lose on the way, the longer it’ll take,” Skarlag said without even looking up from her book. 

Ash glared at the general. She carefully adjusted the pole carrier over her shoulders. On each end of the pole hung a large wooden bucket filled with water. 

She had been doing this every day for the past three weeks. She hated this exercise. 

When she regained her balance, she resumed her grueling march with shaky legs, each step sinking deep into the gravel. 

“This bath won’t fill up by itself,” her master added. 

Ash finally reached the big tub and emptied the half-full buckets inside it. Her arms were dangling over the edge of the tub as she caught her breath, wheezing like a retiree who had just run a marathon. 

At least, she no longer felt like she would die from a heart attack any minute while berating herself for not hitting the gym more often. 

“Keep moving,” she heard from behind. 

Failing at suppressing a groan, she got back on her feet and picked up the pole and the buckets. With one container in each hand and the pole stacked under her armpit, she trotted along the circular edges of the training ground, all the way back to the well. 

At the well, she grabbed the wet rope and attached both buckets to it. 

“Tsk-tsk. One at a time,” Skarlag said as she finished reading a page and flipped it. 

Ash grumbled. She untied one of the buckets and let the attached one drop at the bottom of the well. It landed with a distant echoey splash. She waited a few seconds. Then, she placed a foot against the edge of the well and pulled on the rope with both hands. 

The pulley squeaked and whistled as the bucket dangled upward. When it reached above the edge, she attached the rope to the metal hook by the frame and untied the water-filled bucket before putting it gently on the ground. 

She wiped the sweat from her forehead. It took her a few trials before she got the hang of it. Now, she was able to pull out the buckets without spilling half of their content back into the well. 

I’ll never take running water for granted again, she thought.

She repeated the operation with the second bucket. She grunted as she lifted her load. Her limbs and back were aching from soreness. She balanced herself on her feet and focused her wavering strength into steadying herself. She managed to reach the tub in what felt like an eternity, each step making all of her muscles flare up. When she looked into the buckets, she sighed. 

She had lost half of the water on the way. Again. 

Ash guzzled a pint of water and slumped on one of the wooden armchairs by the fire. A cauldron was hanging above the flames. She leaned forward and smelled. 

“Let me guess. Potato-leek soup with poached eggs?”

Skarlag threw a bunch of herbs into the pot. “And rabbit meat.” 

Water spilled from Ash’s mouth. “But I—”

“Yes, I am aware. But you won’t get to choose what you can put your hands on out in the wilderness. Besides,”—the ginger-haired general approached Ash, placed her thumb below her eye, and pulled down—“you have weak blood.”

The apprentice stiffened. It was the first time she could see her master’s face from up close. She had luminous turquoise eyes, a thin and pointy nose, and smooth alabaster skin. Her cleft chin and slightly downturned lips gave her a fearless look on top of her poised features. 

When Myra had left the training ground the month before, Ash had panicked at the idea of being left alone with Skarlag. But it turned out her company was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. The Joyian general had this capacity to either exude an intimidating aura or erase her presence completely. 

Sometimes, Ash would be so focused on her exercises that she would forget her master was there, save for her occasional instructions and reminders. As days turned into weeks, the fear she had initially felt was starting to subside. 

Ash looked down at the fuming bowl of stew. Her nostrils flared at the sight of the protruding brown piece of meat attached to the small chopped bone. 

She knew she had anemia. It had been the case for as long as she could remember but it had never bothered her. Until she had to exercise fourteen hours a day. 

“Technique training starts in fifteen minutes,” Skarlag said in between bites. 

Maybe an extra boost of iron won’t hurt, Ash thought.

She took a spoonful and shivered. She had forgotten the taste of cooked blood. She painfully swallowed the meat before taking a big drink of water. 

“Even the queen didn’t manage to make me do this.” Ash wiped her mouth and sighed. “What I’d do for you, boss.”

As they were finishing up their meal, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Skarlag’s lips before it disappeared just as fast.

The student was standing next to her master as the latter showed her the combination of punches and kicks once again. 

When it was time for her to replicate the drill, she messed up the last part. Skarlag hit her leg with her long wooden stick. She repositioned her student’s feet, fists, knees, and back. 

“One more time.” 

Ash cussed out of frustration and repeated the succession of moves. She had to make sure the form of each of them was right. It didn't help that she was left-handed. She had to reverse the movements in her head before performing them, adding another layer of complexity. 

If the first half of her daily training was challenging her endurance, the second half was putting her nerves and patience to the test. 

She repeated the drill over and over. She knew it could go on for as long as a hundred repetitions until her master would deem it acceptable. 

They were covering the basics of punches and kicks. She liked that part more than the strength training because she could see the concrete application of what she was learning. Anything was better than running back and forth for hours to fill a tub. 

Crap!

She had mixed up the fourth and fifth movements. She hoped her master didn't notice and went on, acting normally. 

The ginger woman hit her arm with the stick. “Again.”

Ash groaned. 

An hour or so had passed when Skarlag finally nodded. That was the signal that she could get a short break before moving on to the next part of the training. 

Ash stretched her back. Her arms, shoulders, and legs were on fire. Her whole body was so sore that she would discover new unsuspected muscles during each exercise.

But the proposition that followed made her forget the pain in a second.