“Someday,” he said as she traced one of the long scratches over the ancient surface, “this shield will pass to you. As it was given to me, and to your great-uncle before me.” Her breath was still jagged from the training they’d done. Only the two of them—as he’d promised. The hour once a week that he set aside for her. Her father placed the shield on the stone step below them, its thunk reverberating through her sandaled feet. It weighed nearly as much as she did, yet he carried it as if it were merely an extension of his arm. “And you,” her father went on, “like the many great women and men
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