Training with Jake was humiliating in ways no one warned about.

He disarmed them in under three seconds. Again.

The knife landed somewhere in the grass while Jake barely moved from his stance, tail flicking once behind him as he stared them down with obvious disappointment. Around them, the younger warriors trying not to laugh were doing a terrible job of hiding it. Lo’ak looked one second away from choking on his own amusement.

Jake sighed deeply, rubbing a hand down his face before motioning for them to grab the knife again. Sweat clung to his shoulders from hours of sparring, and strands of dark hair had slipped loose from his braid.

“You keep fighting angry,” he explained while circling slowly around them. “Anger makes you sloppy.”

When they lunged again, faster this time, Jake caught their wrist almost effortlessly and spun them off balance before they could react. But instead of knocking them down again, he steadied them first. Just briefly. Instinctively.

It was always like that with him. Hard lessons softened at the edges by unconscious care he probably did not even realize he showed anymore.