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Mags shaded his eyes and peered across the uneven ground of the Kirball field at the opposing team huddled up in front of their goal and forced himself to relax. There was no point in getting tense. This was only a game, after all. He had to keep reminding himself of that, even as nervous sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and inside his gloves his palms were moist.

Only a game being played in front of hundreds of people . . .

::To most of whom you are just a red shape on a white horse. Even with Colin calling the gameplay, they still wouldn’t know who you were.:: The voice in his head was as familiar as his own now, warm and slightly amused.

“Thanks fer makin’ a lad feel special, Dallen,” he muttered under his breath, knowing the great white horse-shaped smart-aleck beneath him had very keen ears.

::Don’t mention it,:: came the cheerfully cheeky reply.

Mags was wearing red rather than Herald Trainee Grays because his Kirball team’s color was red—although to be strictly accurate, only his padding and helmet were red. But since the Kirball field was deliberately awash with dangerous obstacles, the players wore full-body protection, so very little of his Grays were showing. The same went for the rest of his teammates—unrecognizable in padded helmet in red, metal face-guard in red, neck collar, shoulder pads, upper and lower arm braces, elbow and knee cups, thigh protection, chest and backplate, and armored boots. They looked more prepared for combat than a game.

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