Dawn at the annex was a monochrome world. A low, cold mist clung to the ground, muting all color to shades of grey and damp green. Eric arrived as the first pale light touched the high wall, the crunch of his boots on the gravel path sounding obscenely loud in the pre-dawn hush.
The door was already open. Silk stood just inside, not as a waiting teacher, but as a part of the architecture—a still, dark column against the gloom. He held two objects: a simple wooden cup full of water, and a long, slender reed.
"Come," he said, and walked out into the misty yard without looking back.
Eric followed. Silk led him not to a training square, but to the very edge of the copse of black-barked trees. The air here smelled of wet earth and decaying leaves. Silk placed the cup of water on a flat, moss-covered stone. He handed Eric the reed, which was about two feet long, hollow, and surprisingly sturdy.
