Cebrice sat in his room after his lesson for several minutes. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself for his failure with Rohchec. But Rohchec's words had made quite the impression on him.

He hoped to make a closer connection to his pack, after what he'd heard. He really couldn't imagine living without them, as Rohchec had. Cebrice had been with Mofrim, Runiek and Beltal since they were 13. It had been over five years together.

A part of him always felt as if the pack never truly accepted him. Only after their most recent experience together did he have a true heart to heart with them. Like Runiek had said, he was the weakest of them, and they all knew that. He always felt like the Elders only put him with them because they were strong enough to carry him. He was the filler. What happened in the mines was just a fluke, an old dark part of himself told him. If it was right, and he couldn't prove himself, then what would become of him?

But he refused to give up hope completely. He could become better. He had seen potential for the first time not that long ago. There was something that he could do well. Thinking in circles wouldn’t help anything, so he tried to bring himself out of it. He got out the gifts.

Leaving his room with the chitin staff in his hands, he went out to the hall to see Runiek coming from the far end. They stopped and looked at each other before Runiek turned to go back down the hall. He could feel that she didn’t want to deal with him today or at all.

“Wait up!” he called telepathically. “I've something for you!”

She rolled her eyes and look over at him. “I don’t want a present from you.”

“But it’s from the chitin! It’s a weapon. I had it made special, helped design it.”

“I said I don’t want it.”

It wasn’t fair, he thought. Sure, he wasn't owed forgiveness, but he wasn't asking for it. He was trying to express that he actually did think highly of her as a packmate. She wasn't even giving him a chance to make it up to her. But she replied mentally that she didn’t give a shit about fairness.

That wasn't true, he thought.

The four of them had spent almost every day together for five years. Sure they had been quiet, and strange, and awkward, sometimes lonely - but they had been together. They had shared thoughts, even if they didn't relate to them. Despite their differences, Cebrice did feel as if, at least on some level, he knew her.

Runiek was angry, but only because she cared so much about fairness, and didn't see enough of it. “So when I say it’s not fair, why doesn’t that matter to you? I don't understand.” He passed the spear towards her emphatically.

“Fuck your sentimentality! I don’t want your shitty present!” She said, almost tearing up with emotion. She took the pale spear out of his hands and threw it on the ground with a clatter. He grit his teeth.

Cebrice was at a loss, but he tried to think differently. What motivated Runiek? All that motivated her to act was aggression, so he tried it on. “How about we fight over it then? Is that what you want? You say you’re better than me, Runiek? OK. Show me then, prove it once and for all.” His voice was small and soft, not suiting the words or tone. At least his voice didn't crack. But he felt embarrassed anyway.

She laughed, wiping her eyes on her arm. “Oh, really? You’re challenging me? That’s adorable. You would hardly be a warm-up.” Runiek indeed stood about four inches taller than him.

“Then let's go!” It was all false bravado and both of them knew it. But he decided to try and speak her language. If it meant that she beat the crap out of him, fine. He would be okay with that. The more important thing was that they’d be on speaking terms again. After all, they would be working together a long time to come. It was like Beltal had done; he was offering to punch him to feel better.

But Runiek wasn’t going to be so content at giving him a single whack. She’d wreck him to feel better, if she was let do so, and he was there giving her the green card.

A small part of Cebrice had an ulterior motive for proposing the fight, as well. He wanted to prove something to himself. He wanted to try on the persona who would stand up for themselves. Even if it failed, he wanted to try a little bit harder.

And Runiek agreed to the challenge.

The rules between Bheorse in a challenge like that were commonly known. No weapons, no control and no pain magic. Just fists, manifest dreams and mind-reading. All things Runiek were better at than him. It would end when one of them alone hit the ground.

They met in the middle of the sports hall. It was evening, so practice had ended for the day. He thought maybe it was a bad idea not to have told anyone that he would be here. But this was between him and Runiek. They didn’t need supervision. And he still trusted her. He knew she didn’t hate him - at least not enough to seriously injure him.

He reached his mind out to Runiek’s emotions. She was excited. She used her rage as a fuel, bouncing from foot to foot, hands raised. He remembered her boxing in her room, and knew that she was more than ready to hand him his ass. He raised his hands as well, more to shield himself than anything else.

Cebrice was nervous. There was no way to call it off. He'd made his choice. He had chosen his punishment. He gulped down, and the two of them agreed to begin.

He listened to her thoughts. At least her mental walls were much lower than those of Beltal or Mofrim, so he could get into her head without much trouble. His walls meanwhile were almost non-existent.

It was a game of reflexes. Knowing a move was coming didn’t mean you could dodge it. And Runiek’s attacks came immediately.

She stepped towards him and he side stepped away from her oncoming punch. Another one. He ducked. He had to come up with something to do, unless he wanted to sit back and take it.

He tried to manifest a dream of where he was, just a few seconds before - but she wasn’t fooled. She knew that he had planned it.

Worse, it seemed two would play that game. Cebrice started to see punches coming from Runiek that weren’t there. He flinched instinctively at the visions and disipated them as he could. He had to focus on where she really was. He tried to weave around her strikes. She put the whole force of her body into them.

It was difficult: He must control himself by what he knew to be true, versus what his senses demanded he respond to.

The ground of the sports hall wasn’t flat but sloped inwards like a bowl, and was easy to slip on. His breath was getting heavier with the exercise. His legs strained with the uphill fight. He tried to move the fight back down towards the centre of the arena.

He tried to focus on her thoughts while dodging. She swung in so hard every time like a juggernaut, that eventually he was overwhelmed. He staggered back. His reflexes stopped him from falling backwards and he squeezed away from the next blow. He felt the pain well up in his chest from the recent impact, pounding with his heartbeat. His own sensation was so distracting to him, but he tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to fall. Not so fast. She didn’t let up. He tried to control his body to weave around, watching the movements of her arms and shoulders to guide him.

Then he noticed something. She was putting everything into her swings, throwing her weight around so much. He started to edge away from the centre. He could get an angle on her. She knew that he could as soon as he thought so. She wouldn't fall for it, so she waited closer to the center. Goading him. She knew it had to do with moving her.

He tried to get her to come to him, but instead she whispered in his mind, "Coward". He turned red, and remained in range of her. "Are you going to dodge forever? Can only win by sneaky tactics, huh?"

She threw a punch and he dodged it and grabbed her arm to toss her forwards, off balance. She knew that that was coming, and tried to pull her arm back, bracing herself. But he resisted and let go only on a forceful pull. She took a staggered step back and went for him again, going to grab his hair then.

He stepped back away from her, but she was faster. They fell together onto the ground. The match would end when one got the other onto the ground, but together it didn’t count. He bit her arm, which was fair play. She snarled like a dog and pulled the arm back away from his hair and made a fist aimed at his face. His eyes widened, and knew well what was coming even without mind powers. But in her mind he felt a smugness, a self-aggrandizing satisfaction which he couldn’t reconcile.

He raised his hand to catch her punch before it could impact his face and he glared up at her with defiance. He was weak, small, and she would win in an arm wrestle any day - but he wasn’t worthless, and he didn’t want it to end like this.

If she won this way now, it would mean something about their friendship forever. It would mean that she would prove herself right about him. They would never be equal then. That wasn’t what he wanted for them.

He wriggled his other hand free, and pushed it into her face. He imagined the Era bat from earlier, the sound of its beating wings. She felt that she was lifted up off of him despite clinging onto his shirt. The clinging more served to lifted him a little up as well onto his feet. She acted out of the surprise, not expecting such theatrics from him of all people. The dream manifest, weak as it was, ended after only a few moments.

Runiek let out a scream of fury at having been denied her victory. She pulled his shirt to try to toss him aside thoughtlessly. Failing at that, she let go and lunged at him, consumed with her rage. He dodged as best he could, taking a hit in the forearm more than once. He finally maneuvered her to a steeper angled area of the arena. All he needed to do was dodge a blow, and then push her sideways at her centre. Her rage had made her not listen to him. It had made her forget to imagine. All she wanted to do was strike out. His moment came. She fell with a bruising thunk, and rolled down towards the centre.

She whipped her braided hair back to glare at up at him. But it didn't matter, he realized. There was so much she could have done, she was thinking. So many mistakes, foolish mistakes.

But in the end, one of them was on the ground, and the other was not. Cebrice had actually won.