Slowly, with deliberate movements, the wooden staff shifted, then spun, and finally was thrust straight-out. Blood hammered in Jason's temples. Whether to the beat of his heart or the music that was playing just a touch too loud, he wasn't sure. His attention was focused on his movements. The staff was brought back into a guard position. Then it spun deftly and moved through a low sweep before coming to rest in a one-hand grip, braced along the back of Jason's arm.
Sweat slicked his body. With the back of his empty hand he wiped away beads of perspiration that threatened to sting his eyes. The staff came back into guard. With a flick of Jason's wrist, the staff flashed out to rapidly strike the body of a wing chun wooden dummy. He brought the staff upright, the butt of it resting between his bare feet on the mat.
Jason crouched low with one leg outstretched. The staff was held in a two-handed grip, pointing low along the line of his leg. He rose up on one foot and planted the staff. First one foot, and then the other, kicked out. Jason landed facing the opposite direction from whence he started.
He continued with his workout until the music cut out and threw him off his rhythm. “What?” he called out.
“There is an individual at the front door,” Mentor told him.
Jason tossed the staff toward the rack, a reflection of his mood that had sent him in to workout, where it clattered before coming to rest on the floor. He picked up a towel and stepped into house shoes. Mopping his face with the towel on the way out the door, Jason stopped and looked at the staff. With a sigh, he turned and collected the staff, putting it in its proper place.