The leap, he had to admit, was impressive.

It was also potentially very dangerous, even in a spar, and the Master felt a spark of real annoyance that the Sentinel would push this hard again in a practice fight. Vargas needed his limbs. For various things, like, walking, hunting, and fighting. He kicked out, and snapped his arms up, spines outward, in the hopes that one or the other would deflect the blow.

This had gone on long enough.

The haft came thrusting in, and Vargas snatched for it. He caught it--if barely--scrabbling thumbs nearly letting it slip through, then tightening enough to stop the strike. He thrust back--a shove powerful enough to push the Sentinel near off his feet, if he managed--and then came upright in a springing bound. One limb struck out as he did, an attempt to not only hit the Sentinel flat in the chest but send him flying.

"You have learned," he growled, after a moment, eyeing him. "I see you've trained. I warn you again: do not seriously wound or kill any of the Forge in a spar, or in practice, Sentinel. Now: when you are ready, I have a way you can prove yourself."

Vargas eyed the Sentinel up and down as the creature pushed slowly back to his feet. He was proving more useful than many: cunning, adaptable, resilient. These were good traits; perhaps it was time to see just how far they extended.

"Have you ever heard of Emuh..?"