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Proserpina

“We’ve already discussed this. Strike here.” Proserpina tiredly raps Ernestine’s first two knuckles. “Keep your left hand out to guard and uncurl your right arm as you extend it–”

“I’ve told you, I’m left-handed.”

“Not yet you’re not. You’ll learn to do this the proper way first, and then you’ll be able to switch if you must.”

“When do I get to spar with the two of you?” Ernestine complains. “Why do I have to spend all my time just hitting your musty oatmeal bag over and over?”

“Because over the last fortnight,” Proserpina grates, “the bag has learned more than you.”

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