“How far have you come in your training?” Shehyn asked.
"I have studied the Ketan for a month.”
She turned to face me and raised her hands. “Are you ready?”
I could not help but think that she was shorter than me by six inches and old enough to be my grandmother. Her lopsided yellow hat didn’t make her look terribly intimidating either. “Perhaps,” I said, and raised my hands as well.
Shehyn came toward me slowly, making Hands like Knives. I countered with Catching Rain. Then I made Climbing Iron and Fast Inward, but could not touch her. She quickened slightly, made Turning Breath and Striking Forward at the same time. I stopped one with Fan Water, but couldn’t escape the other. She touched me below my ribs then on my temple, softly as you would press a finger to someone’s lips.
Nothing I tried had any effect on her. I made Thrown Lighting, but she simply stepped away, not even bothering to counter. Once or twice I felt the brush of cloth against my hands as I came close enough to touch her white shirt, but that was all. It was like trying to strike a piece of hanging string.
I set my teeth and made Threshing Wheat, Pressing Cider, and Mother at the Stream, moving seamlessly from one to the other in a flurry of blows.