A welt was forming quickly where David had just taken a blow from a bokken, his arm had gone numb from the blow; but sensation returned rapidly, his arm protesting the abuse.
David had almost lost his grip on the practice sword, his palms slick with the sweat of exertion.
"You're getting better Dave," James said. He was rubbing at his shoulder as well.
"It reminds me of a dance," David said, taking his place again.
"Yes, the dance of death."
James whirled the bokken over his head and attacked again.
David blocked, flowing through the forms that were becoming second nature to him.
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