The boy planted his left heel wrong on the descent.
It was a specific kind of wrong. Recruits overcorrected, threw their weight too far back, and made mistakes a drill instructor fixed in the first month with a stick and a shouted direction. His mistake only mattered if you planned to fight someone who had been trained properly. His weight distribution hit the correct ratio at the bottom of the step. He'd compensated during the descent itself. His instinct knew the correction even if his body hadn't automated it. Eleven weeks of observation had confirmed this. Three years had not changed it.
Gorrah watched from the garrison wall. She leaned heavily against the cold parapet. She'd been here since fifth bell. Two hours, and her right arm had gone from stiff to aching to the numbness that meant the shoulder joint had given up arguing and simply stopped reporting. Three-quarter extension was six months ago. Half-extension on a good morning. This morning wasn't good.
