Sika voiced a non-committal grunt at Reynik’s assurances. “I don’t care if you use it. Marigon is meant to be focusing on using the Force in one way right now, and it’s not to send you hurtling across the room.”
The third fight went much the way the other two had; Marigon’s grasp on her calm faltered, made worse by the occasional remark that Sika threw at her whenever he felt she wasn’t doing something she should be doing. All the while, the young woman took the verbal abuse in silence. She knew what the older man was doing—why he had become so harsh with her since his return. He had coddled her before, and she could admit to that. Upon her arrival to Savat, the former Jedi had taken her under his wing and displayed all the grace and patience of the order from which he had come, but finding out she was to be sent right back into the rancor’s den that was the Empire had shined a bright light on how ill-suited she was to handle such a return—not to mention his own failure to properly train her. She understood, but it was still a difficult thing to forgive.
By the time Sika called it a day, Marigon was aching in ways she hadn’t since Korriban. Countless places on her body stung viciously from the burn of the practice sabers; Reynik hadn’t pulled a single punch, and she found that a part of her was grateful for that. Too often, the few partners she had squared off against since coming to Savat had been hesitant, unwilling to strike—there was no honor in hitting a person who couldn’t see it coming. She supposed that was why Sika had chosen him—he was a Sith like her, and Sith didn’t hesitate in the same ways that Jedi might.
She powered down her saber and bowed slightly at the waist to Reynik, before returning the weapon to the rack. That she could tell, the Sith seemed completely unaffected, as if he had been out for a mere stroll rather than sparring. She, on the other hand, was much the worse for wear.
“We’ll begin again tomorrow after evening meal. Thank you, Reynik, for your assistance,” Sika said, dismissing them both with a wave of his hand. He didn’t return Marigon’s walking stick to her, and she didn’t ask for it.
Instead, the young woman turned and limped slowly of the room, one hand extended out towards the wall just long enough to get her bearings before she began making her way back to her quarters