What he had written to his mother was true: for the first time in his life, he felt confident that this was it. He had been greatly enjoying each practice session, and each day he couldn't wait to do more. To understand through action - this was a completely new frame of mind to him, and one that he would have never imagined would resonate so much with his personality. He used to think that there was no better way to learn than by reading books in bed; comfortable on his belly, his shirt wrinkled against the mattress, his back sheltered by the warmth of the blankets - a pleasure always linear, always controlled, always the same - and he would love it, and he would devour his books with enthusiasm. However, the practice tower was something else entirely. It was a place much unlike his old bedroom - it was a place of changes and disorder. When he'd set foot within those walls, something new would happen; and when he'd descend the spiral staircase back to the main room, he'd find himself drained, yet full of echoes, full of new thoughts ripening within him. He found himself craving that thrill, that displacement, that loss of safety. And he couldn't wait to see the fruits that this new beginning would bear.