Ren hadn't gotten very many chances to train him, but Kira had done his best to absorb the lessons--not to rely on his stuttering, too-subtle prescience, but not to ignore it either. To move with a blow if it struck, to fall correctly, where to strike that might incapacitate without doing lasting harm.
That had been an argument below the surface of their sessions, a stubbornness behind their wrapped hands. It was pointless to trade points the other couldn't accept--Ren could hurt him, would press the point up to the instance of actually doing it, and Kira would grin against the bruising of his cheek and remind him: but you don't want to.
His hand is limp before she catches it on the edge of her own, as much warning as that sense provides before he's overwhelmed with the present, the volume and urgency of her voice. He likely won't get another, just the dirt-wild state of her, sweating in the cold. Hands up, his right stinging but not badly, he takes two steps back. "Was it the fireflies," he asks, remembering his own reckless flight through the trees, "They've already turned back, it's fine now. I'm certainly not going to hurt you."
Were she anyone else, he might have taken her word for it, turned on a heel and run back to the inn for assistance. He still might, if she doesn't calm down, or can't get up after her fall. "Jyn," he repeats, feeling a need to ground her with the name, or just see if she seems to respond to it, "It's just me. It's Kira."
no subject
That had been an argument below the surface of their sessions, a stubbornness behind their wrapped hands. It was pointless to trade points the other couldn't accept--Ren could hurt him, would press the point up to the instance of actually doing it, and Kira would grin against the bruising of his cheek and remind him: but you don't want to.
His hand is limp before she catches it on the edge of her own, as much warning as that sense provides before he's overwhelmed with the present, the volume and urgency of her voice. He likely won't get another, just the dirt-wild state of her, sweating in the cold. Hands up, his right stinging but not badly, he takes two steps back. "Was it the fireflies," he asks, remembering his own reckless flight through the trees, "They've already turned back, it's fine now. I'm certainly not going to hurt you."
Were she anyone else, he might have taken her word for it, turned on a heel and run back to the inn for assistance. He still might, if she doesn't calm down, or can't get up after her fall. "Jyn," he repeats, feeling a need to ground her with the name, or just see if she seems to respond to it, "It's just me. It's Kira."