"Do it," he said. "Rim only. Keep the circle hungry."
Obedient bone drifted up out of the gray. Knees found knees. Elbows learned elbow. Rims touched without scraping. Bows bent and sang a single low note as their strings took first tension. The line's sound dropped a shade, like a choir adding an alto.
"Wrists quiet," Thalatha said again, not bored, just certain. "Let the blow travel wood."
He breathed through his nose. Metal taste. Don't bite your cheek again, idiot, he told himself, and released his jaw.
