<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/fa/Trainee.jpg)</div><strong>Character name:</strong>Yfan Bravni<br/><strong>Position:</strong>Trainee<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Ishara, Open<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Evening, Saven 5th, 990NE<br/><strong>Place:</strong>Training Grounds, running track<br/><strong>Warning:</strong><br/><hr/><br/>Yfan was very nearly free when Ishara placed herself in his path. He was compelled to stop; physically she could impel him to halt with the blades and her hips, to say nothing of the One Power. He could crush her beneath his bulk as surely as a prize bull if he had the mind to run her over. She commanded him to stop, and so he did, coming to a halt less than an arm's length from her. His breathing was heavy and laboured. His heart pounded in his ears but the blond woman still managed to make herself heard over it.<br/><br/>His blue eyes met those of the Accepted. He bowed his head to her as the weave passed over him. There was nothing it could do about his odor: while it may have stopped him from sweating there was no escaping that he was profusely covered in the results of hours of running.<br/><br/>"Gratitude, Accepted." Yfan said, with the fullest respect the woman was due, to Ishara, and he began to pace so that his muscles would not cramp up. His eyes sought for the sun, and he judged the time. "I am free from this task now." The man told the blonde Accepted. He could sense that others were jealous not only of the attention that he was receiving, but that Ishara appeared to want to relieve him of his burden so that she could fence with him. The eyes of the other men were upon them, and with varying degrees of subtlety. For his part, Yfan was ambivalent to this attention. He knew that Ishara was a beautiful woman and that he should feel something more than the feint stirrings that he did, and that he would be the object of envy and jealousy of other men, at least for a time, while Ishara spoke to him. Yfan knew that he was gazed upon with scorn now, as other men thought him unworthy of Ishara's attention. Such was her beauty. Later, one might even bring the matter to debate with fists.<br/><br/>It was uncomfortable to speak, because Yfan's mouth and throat were so dry. He could not remain silent, however.<br/><br/>"As for what I have done? I disagreed with a master. We were asked which is more important: courage or expertise. The master, and several other trainees, favoured expertise. Expertise, as held by the gaidin and blademasters. For my part, I championed courage." Yfan said, with some difficulty. But he hid his discomfort well. "If I had reversed myself and agreed with the master, I would now be taking my supper." The man's stomach made a rumbling noise. It was a day after Shayella Sedai had performed a healing weave to repair a torn muscle sustained during a training exercise where Yfan had faced three other men and pushed his body beyond any sane limit, and he was still feeling the effects of that weave's drain on his energy. "If I had reversed myself and debased myself to the master, admitting my foolishness in making such a choice, then I would not have been made to run."<br/><br/>The tall man shrugged. He was able to look down at Ishara by virtue of his height, one of the few men capable of doing so.<br/><br/>Yfan licked his lips and tried to encourage his mouth to generate more saliva.<br/><br/>"Do you wish to cross swords with me, Accepted?" Yfan asked, with all deference that Ishara was due. He did not dare assume that she desired to fence with him. The man was not so bold as to presume to know the mind of any of the women of the White Tower.