“You’re too slow,” Alinata tells them. “Too weak. None of you would last five seconds in a real fight. I have fought tikoloshe. I have faced Umadi war parties. Out on the battlefield the enemy doesn’t care if you’re graceful or pretty to look at. They strike, and if you’re slow or weak, you’re dead. Get any other silly notions out of your head.” The girls say nothing. Unati is now sitting up and massaging her neck. Her eyes have misted over with tears of fury. She doesn’t get it. None of them get it, and they never will. Alinata shakes her head in disgust and leaves the quadrangle to return to
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