Despite her absolute tiredness, Libra couldn’t sleep. Instead, she sat in a deep, relaxing meditation, trying to draw strength and energy. It seemed like only minutes later that her alarm went off, and Libra pulled herself, grumbling and not really feeling any better, from the meditation. She donned her robes and boots quickly as she could in the state of mental disarray, and hurried off to Training Room 17B.
The training room was an arena, which wasn’t at all expected. The figure of her master loomed near the door, and Cuchulain tapped his wrist crono, looking at the student. “You’re late.” Libra looked at her own crono, and saw it was only thirty seconds past four, but didn’t argue. That wouldn’t do anything. Instead, she bowed to him and apologized, knowing it really wouldn’t do any good. He ignored her, and began to pace, looking at Libra the whole time. “You haven’t been training as much as I would like. True, you’ve done the allotted amount of time, but nothing more. The Krath may be writers, astounding poets, but they are able to wield a blade with strength and confidence.”
Suddenly, the master began to toss small objects from around the room at Libra through the Force. Bottles, scrap materials, papers, even chairs and tables, began to fly at her. “You must defend yourself from any attack. Now defend yourself!” Hesitating for a fraction of a second, she was hit by a flying chair, sending the Lightsabre flying from the students grip. She scrambled to pick it up, diverting attacks away from herself with the Force. The distinctive snap-hiss came, and a brilliant blue blade lit her face.
Passive, now standing still, Cuchulain continued to hurl objects at the student, bombarding her from all sides, his face remaining an unrelenting, focused, analyzing gaze, watching Libra scramble to protect herself from the blows. Her hand flew out, diverting attacks away with the Force, while cutting through others. “I hope I’m not paying for any of this, like last night.” She mumbled grumpily, knowing full well that Cuchulain could hear her. “Focus, student. Tangents on your bad mood just makes the enemy want to kill you more.” He told Libra as she sliced a thick sheet of plywood in half and jumped out of the way of an oncoming table.
This went on for what felt like hours to Libra. Suddenly, all the objects dropped to the floor. “Clean this up before you leave. The world will become messy, but clean up things, even if you didn’t make the mess.” And with that, the master left the arena, but then stuck his head back inside. “You’ll be sent word on your next lesson later.”
Libra grumbled, but began to move things back into place, or at least what she thought was the right place. Where did he get off, doing this? The other students never told tales of these types of things happening. Whenever she brought up one of the encounters, others looked at her strangely, or with pity. The things that were broken she lay in a pile with a note saying “Sorry about the mess.” Everything else was put to where she thought it went, though Libra couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t gotten a good look at anything before he had begun hurling objects at her.
The initial excitement and craziness had worn off, and now she just wanted to sleep. Dragging herself back to the quarters, Libra fell onto her sleeping pallet, and into strange dreams.
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