Since wandering into Danny’s tutelage in December, Brigitte has become a regular sight at his dojo. She enjoys the workout and the training — and at least tolerates the morning meditation, although she often fidgets, restless and antsy, struggling with keeping herself still and inactive. But she’s been getting better at it with practice. She works on flexibility with Danny, fluid movements and limberness and chi.

Strength training is something else, though. And it’s true that she could always have more of it: carrying stacks of ingots and swinging a hammer at the forge takes arm muscle, as does hefting the prototype shield she’s been working on, which isn’t the streamlined beauty of her one back home.

Today, Brigitte’s already warmed up with a quick jog, doing a few laps around the exterior of the building and then doing stretches inside on the mats — she’s sitting on the floor with her nose pressed to her knee when she glances up at the sight of a shadow filling the front doorway, a man ducking to clear the frame and enter the dojo.

As always: it would’ve been intimidating, if she didn’t find it oddly comforting. She bounces back to her feet, bobs on her heels. “Morning!” she says brightly. Less awkward now that Maine’s invited her presence, and she hasn’t simply foisted it upon him.