Sawtooth Spire to endure steadfastly;

The closer they got to their sparring area, the more Stag was convinced this was a terrible idea. What if he was clumsy? What if he did something stupid? What if Praimfaya thought he was softer than a soggy mushroom?

Trepidation shivered up his spine, but he ignored it -- trying to remain relentlessly optimistic despite the fact he had all the makings of bad example, not a model student. "Okay." He had been mostly silent while they walked, frantically flipping through his mental library for any tidbits Mahler or his mother had ever told him. Fuck. He remembered nothing.

He turned around and squared up, his feet all in the wrong place, his stance totally antithetical to 'prepared for anything'. Praimfaya dipped into a graceful bow, and all Stag could do was smile grotesquely before he executed a sloppy, inefficent swipe of his forepaw that would be fantastically easy to counter.