As he counts through his stretches, Wilhelm contends with an elevated awareness of his body. Less in a philosophical, "fully inhabit yourself and acknowledge each muscle" sort of way, unfortunately, and more in a teenage, "being watched by a boy" sort of way that worries the fragile line between vanity and self-consciousness. He brushes it off to focus on Kyle's instruction and the give and take of their sparring.

He's a different student than he was two years ago. When Kyle encourages him to try something again, he does so without a grumble of complaint. When he's knocked to the grass, he bounces back to his feet. It's hard work, but it doesn't feel like a chore.

Every now and then, his attention flits over to where Iris perches at the edge of the lawn. He measures his roommate's reactions at each turn, puffing out a determined breath when he fails, flashing a grin when he lands a solid blow.

Afterward, he accepts a waterskin from Kyle. He mops the sweat from his face and the back of his neck, then flaps the hem of his shirt to air out.

"We'll probably grab something to eat." He glances at Iris to confirm. The other boy hadn't taken anything during their initial sweep through the dining room en route to the grounds.