Arthur wasn't strictly speaking in the right shape to really cut loose. He'd settled, grudgingly, for a lighter staff instead of his sword to train with. Even so, he was likely overextending some of his muscles.

He didn't like the limitations that came with being wounded.

He still had a few claw scratches on his face, but he'd been assured they would heal well enough and without scarring (which was a good thing, because he wasn't yet of the age where he could manage his father's dignified facial scars). Modern medicine or whatever it was they'd given him meant he wasn't going to wind up bleeding or anything.

So it was going to have to be enough. He twirled the staff through the air and started a simple form.

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