It didn't seem so heavy at first; less than the weight of a full teapot to be carried into the drawing room for Mother's tea with Mrs. Hazelton, but more than the Greek text that Edmund so regularly left behind when he returned to school.

Lucy shifted her feet, then stilled under the keen eye of Silversharp: the Centaur had only turned the sandglass twice, and there was some time yet to go.

The sun glinted off the edges of the sword, and her muscles burned, and she ignored the whispers around her from the Dwarf guards and the stable staff as sweat trickled down her back--but still she held her pose, as the sword grew heavier and heavier.