Meredith.
I groaned lightly as I dropped onto the bench by the edge of the training grounds, sweat trickling down my back and soaking through my shirt.
My arms felt like lead, and my thighs were already beginning to protest with every movement.
Dennis offered a grin and a short bow, like we'd just wrapped up a polite fencing duel instead of an hour of him dancing around my attacks and flicking imaginary hits at me just to prove he could.
"Not bad," he said, tossing me a water flask. "You're getting sharper."
I took the flask with a breathless thanks, gulping the cool water gratefully before swiping the back of my hand across my damp forehead. "I'll get better," I murmured.
Dennis's grin widened. "That's the spirit. Now go get yourself cleaned up first. Breakfast is sacred."
I shot him a narrow-eyed glance. "You're the one who dragged me onto the field before sunrise."
"Ah, and I regret nothing."
I didn't have the strength to argue. My muscles were jelly.
