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crowd, mainly trainees and support personnel, though Bellatrix, Paladin, and Tor were among them as well. Some studied their technique with a clinical eye, while others simply enjoyed the spectacle. Her heightened senses registered that several of the men had erections as they watched the two women fight. Kari meditated on the aesthetics of the battle, particularly the contrasts. Emry was a bold presence, with wild bright hair, shining eyes, and a powerful, curvaceous body. Kari was dainty and subtle, her black hair long and straight, her half-moon eyes dark and demure, her contours sleek and understated. She’d been designed to appear deceptively cute, girlish, and unthreatening, and in her less meditative moments she envied her friend’s flashy gorgeousness. Emry’s vivid green and black costume complemented Kari’s stylized dogi, a saffron-trimmed red jacket (the color of life, framed by the color of restraint and renunciation) worn over a silver light-armor leotard and tied with a black belt (with no dan markings, since Sensei Villareal felt conventional skill rankings were inapplicable in her case). Emry shrieked and grunted and roared with passion as she fought, her rough-edged soprano dancing through octaves in a way that irritated some spectators while arousing others. Kari’s vocalizations were precise, relaxed, merely a focusing of energy.
    The two best friends had been sparring frequently for sixteen months now, challenging each other to reach greater heights, and together they were poetry, their disparate styles meshing into a graceful, vicious dance. They knew each other, felt each other, brought out the best in each other. It was exhilarating. Though Kari was serene and detached in her battle peace, she was hardly emotionless, and as she and Emry sparred and kicked and threw each other across the room she was filled with joy at the perfection they made together. Although her love for Emry was only sisterly, she felt a sensual, almost orgasmic fulfillment when they sparred like this, their bodies achieving a unity she’d never otherwise felt outside of sex, and rarely there. And she could see that joy infecting Emry, gradually pushing aside the anger and bitterness. There was nothing more therapeutic than pure, simple fun with someone you loved and trusted. Kari was glad she could help.
    Finally Emry was laughing out loud as she fought, and as she so often did at this point, she got sick of Kari’s zenlike detachment (what Emry called her “anti-Berserker” mode) and tried to break her concentration by making her laugh. Kicks and flips turned into tickles and pratfalls, and it was with great relief that Kari finally felt the heiwa leave her so she could laugh again. Where before there had been two relentless fighters striking blows that would’ve killed lesser mortals, now there were two twentysomething girls rolling around on the floor, giggling and hurling playful insults.
    Finally they bowed deeply to their spectators and sashayed off to the locker room arm-in-arm. By now Kari was starting to notice the bruises her battle peace hadn’t let her feel before. Emry looked pretty roughed up herself, though, and Kari felt the usual odd mixture of pride and shame that she could give as good as she got in the violence department. At least they both healed fast. And it had been worth it, to cheer Emry up.
    The two of them showered, exchanged back rubs, and then settled into a furo for a nice hot soak. “Ohhh,” Kari moaned. “Forget about that girls’ day out—let’s just stay here all day.”
    “Mmm, nice thought. But I’m looking forward to it. We haven’t had a good night on the town together in months.”
    “Yeah, you’re right.” But then Kari pouted and hugged Emry desperately.
    “Uh-oh. Mood swing. What gives?”
    “Ohh,” Kari moaned, “it just hit me that I won’t see you as much now that you’ve graduated! I’ll miss you so much, sweetie!”
    “Aww, you big crybaby,” Emry said,