After that, she dragged me to a secluded clearing deep within the estate where the only sounds were there no one was around. We fought, we sparred, and we hurt each other. Well, mostly she hurt me.
Every time I reached the brink of collapse, she would force another healing potion down my throat, the magical liquid knitting my flesh back together in a sickeningly fast, itchy process that hurt more than the wound itself.
Then, as soon as the skin closed, we went at it again.
I lost count of the rounds. Was it 7? 13? 19? Even though the potions could mend a broken bone or close a gash, they did absolutely nothing for my stamina. My mind was fraying, my lungs were having difficulty breathing, and my muscles were vibrating with fatigue.
