“Bleak,” she hissed over her shoulder.“Huh?” Helen looked at her wrist. “Bleak! Bleak mood-”Fireheart scowled and turned to face Helen. �...Lord Winsom,” she said, her voice pitched to carry throughout the arena. “I fear that your fascination with the Lady of the Brooks and your urge to woo her has left my training to languish, like the forest in winter. Why, we have not sparred in a fortnight.”Helen looked down at her wrist again. “Then ... we shall spar now, my squa- squire.” She grabbed at her. "He probably looks at all the moms that way. He's just being nice," she convinced herself.But her body wasn't accepting her mind's rationalization. She felt herself blush and instinctively gave him a coy smile and a sideways glance with her head tilted down. Then she scolded herself for flirting and tried to avoid eye contact for the rest of the ceremony.After the ceremony there was pizza and cake and she spent some time talking with the other moms (all the while hoping they couldn't smell her. More

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