No one is safe.

Eight mudansha, junior students to prepare for tests right now. Theirs is the present toll on my body. If I weren't so fond of these truly, very good friends, I wouldn't be offering myself up to the degree I have been. Despite my high regard for them, despite only wanting the best for them, and despite the fact that I am supposedly helping them to learn how not to be hurt, sometimes, I injure them. The evidence:

And in that picture, the bruise is only about twelve hours old. It's already half the length of her arm and approximately the color you imagine when you think of an ulcer. She doesn't remember when it might have happened, nor what exactly might have done it. It's going to get bigger, darker, and more sensitive to touch before it starts to heal, when it will get even uglier. Yellow, purple, spotty and raised. Still, she showed up for three hours of class the next morning, ready to practice again the test that left this mark on her the night before. Tough, persistent, and further developing both of those qualities every day: this is a big part of budo, embodied.