Page 174 of The Sun He Buried

“Then we’ve narrowed the lesson.”

“I don’t know how.”

“That’s generally why people learn.”

Oh.

I bounce once before I remember the snow, and my boots sink deeper.

Eirik sees.

The purple eye warms for half a second.

He walks back and holds out the knife, handle first.

“Take it.”

I reach.

Then stop.

“Is it sharp?”

“Only where the blade begins.”

“That’s most of the dangerous part.”

“Your education progresses.”

I take the handle.

The knife is heavier than it looked. The grip fills my palm, warm from his grip.

Eirik steps beside me.

“Face the target.”

“I was.”

“Your feet weren’t.”

I look down.

My left foot points at the target. The right has turned toward the hall.

It has good instincts.

“Both feet?”

“Unless you plan to run during the throw.”

I move the right one.

“Not that far.”

I move it back.

“You’ve discovered two wrong positions.”