After a few more goes with different opponents each time, Sharon and her training partners were interrupted by a steady clanging bell coming from one end of the compound. "Right!" bellowed their instructors, "Fall in for noonday meal!"
Sharon sighed with relief, shrugging her shoulders to try and relieve some of the strain in them. "I didn't control my fall right that last time," she thought to herself, "I'd better watch for that." Sharon had tried some dirty tricks in her later matches, at the insistence of the instructors; in fact, she had almost laughed with exhiliration at the way her second opponent had gasped when she delivered a firm closed-fist smack between his legs. Her fellow trainees were just as fast learners as she was, however, and in the last match she'd had to struggle just to stay on her feet after being half-blinded with a handful of sand at the start of the bout.
Sharon fell into the mess hall queue automatically, grateful for the meager respite the meal tents offered from her exertions under the hot noonday sun. She was pouring with sweat by now, as was the massive pair of black shoulder blades standing in front of that she was staring at dully as she waited her chance to recieve food.
Sharon took the bowl and cup offered her, recieved her soup and hunk of rock-hard bread, and slaked her thirst and her hunger greedily alongside the other men under the mess hall's shade. A few gave her second looks, but most were as exhausted and hungry as she was, and there was no attempt at conversation. A few guards watched over the men as they ate, but otherwise they were unsupervised; as she scraped up the last of her soup, Sharon looked around her.
Sat Feb 22 16:10:51 2003