smite me oh mighty smiter

Things were finally returning to normal for Pyrrhic. He had been forcing himself to do the things he'd done before the accident. Sooner or later they would stick and become what they'd been to him before his father's death. He'd enjoyed sparring and hunting, tinkering and brainstorming. He wanted to find enjoyment in those things again. More than that, he needed to. Pyrrhic was afraid of becoming frozen; afraid of atrophying like an unchallenged muscle.

With muscles on the brain, Pyrrhic trotted to the center of the runestones. He hadn't sparred since Iroh challenged him to smile and it was time for that to change. Inactivity was a slippery slope. If he wasn't careful his flexibility and stamina would trickle away from him so slowly it would likely escape his notice. If his slothfulness persisted there would come a day when he went to fight and found himself as capable of defending himself as a fresh-faced yearling.

Pyrrhic raised his voice to the heavens and called for any and all who wished to test their mettle with him.