Weapons.

Chris Alan had now entered his second month of training and Toa was becoming a harder teacher. Toa was now using a thin stick to “lash” Chris Alan every time he made a mistake during the Broadleaf Form. A wrong step was met by a swat on the leg; an incorrect hand position was met by a swat on the hand.

“Alan, this man is treating you like a school child – or worse, a slave,” Autumn protested. “Maybe I should have a word with him.”

“In your condition, you should be resting.”

“What about my fitness regime?”

“Take it light for now, love.”

“I still think *Mr. Toa* is being cruel on purpose.”

“That’s *Sijo* Toa to you,” Chris Alan warned.

“She’s right, Blondie; this is torture,” Slate interrupted as he entered the training hall.

“I know, but the Master knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, every day his *creative mind* thinks up of some new way to punish you,” Slate scoffed.

“Actually, I’ve been monitoring the tests and pain exercises he’s been dishing out; they’re decreasing in intensity. His focus seems now more on technique. I think his earlier discipline was just a time of testing.”

“If I were you, I don’t think I’d allow anyone to smack *me* with a rod every time I made an error.” Slate rolled his eyes.

“How did ‘Old Nick’ correct *you* when you trained under him? I’ll bet it wasn’t with something as light as a rod.”

“Yeah, it was often with the back of his hand, I’ll admit; and that was *before* he really soured. But I’m an *Elemental* and a *Doer*, Blondie; you’re *neither*,” Slate protested. In some fundamental ways that Slate didn’t fully understand (but that Chris Alan did), Chris Alan, being a Protector, was like “the little brother that he never had,” someone to be cherished and protected, not exposed to needless danger or suffering.

“I probably don’t have to quote the Codex on using a rod of correction,” Chris Alan replied dryly.

“Isn’t there such a thing as too much correction? What about encouragement?” Autumn added her bit.