Dynamic Wounded Pose Reference Novels & Stories

“Lazarus is one of my closest friends, I wouldn’t want to cross him.” I scratched my arm awkwardly, because what he’d just said stung me, and hurt me more than it should have. I swallowed a lump that had caught in my throat, doing my best to push my thoughts away. “Anyway, let’s get started,” said Damon, smiling. “First, we need to get your posture right. Curl your hands into loose fists, and raise them in front of your face.” “Ahm…okay,” I obeyed. “Make sure your dominant arm is close to your body,” Damon explained, “and your non-dominant arm is slightly in front of your body. So, what’s your dominant arm?”

"Your form is perfect, show me how to deepen it." I moved behind him, placing my hands on his hips to adjust his alignment. His skin was warm. "Tuck your pelvis more. Feel the stretch here." His breath hitched. "Like this?" "Yes, better." My hands lingered a second too long. He straightened and turned to face me. "Now correct me in downward dog." I nodded and watched him fold into the pose. The lines of his back and ass looked incredible. I stepped closer, pressing gently on his lower back. "Sink your heels and lengthen through the spine."

There is just enough tension to pull his leg slightly off true. “Your job is to keep your center of gravity within this square,” Lyra said, tapping the mat around his feet with the toe of her shoe. “Rhea will provide perturbations.” “Is that the technical term for ‘yanking on my leg’?” he asked. “Yes,” Lyra said. “Knees soft. Core engaged. Rail is for fingertip support only, not a death grip. Ready?” “Define ready,” he muttered, but he nodded. Rhea snapped the band gently to the side.

“That’s what I’m here for. We’ll loosen you up. Promise.” The first half hour was almost innocent. He guided her through sun salutations, his voice low and steady, counting breaths. But every time he corrected her form, his hands lingered a second longer than necessary. A palm pressed lightly to her lower back during forward fold, fingers spreading just enough to feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric. When she moved into warrior II, his touch skimmed down her raised arm, adjusting the angle of her wrist. “Feel that stretch?” he murmured. “Breathe into it. Let your body open.”

“Let me see your fighting stance.” I spread my legs out a bit and raised my fists. Jaxon smiled before he came to lift one of my fists and lower the other. He pushed my leg forward and out before making me lower myself. “Good. I want you to remember this pose. It lets you channel your energy flowing through your body. And it keeps you firmly rooted to the ground.” Jaxon said. I nodded, mentally picturing the stance.

Darnell said as he turned round and had his back pressed against Sasha’s. “Now, take a deep breath in, and then out,” said the instructor. “Breathe in. Hold. Now breathe out. Good.” After a few minutes she instructed them to change positions. Sasha placed her hands and knees on the floor. Darnell held her waist as she arched her back, then bended inward so that her back sank. As she repeated the movement, she tried not to pay attention to his hands on her waist. “Now, lie on your side,” said the instructor. “Ladies and gentlemen, place a pillow under your partners’ heads and between their knees. Now, what I want you to do is just hold their hands.”

My injured knee hardly bothers me anymore. I press my palms into the floor and lift my hips up to form a perfect right angle. Jenna groans in exhaustion on my right. Her "downward dog" makes it look like she's about to do push-ups. How many times have I told her to take a beginner refresher course?

“But without a strong stance, you’re vulnerable. No matter how strong or fast your opponent is, balance can tip the scales in your favor.” Erika adjusted her footing, her muscles burning as she maintained the pose. Alessandro gave a satisfied nod. “Now, strikes.” He demonstrated a series of punches, each movement fluid and precise. The air seemed to crackle as his fist cut through it, the force palpable even from where Erika stood. “Your turn,” he said, stepping back. Erika mirrored his movements, her punches tentative at first but growing stronger with each attempt. Alessandro corrected her form with gentle yet firm guidance. “Keep your wrist straight. Twist your hips for power. There you g

Gideon watched, his eyes sharp, missing nothing. He moved to the first pair, his hand reaching out to correct a stance, to adjust a grip, to guide a movement. “Use your core,” he instructed one young wolf, demonstrating the proper rotation of the hips, the alignment of the shoulders. “Your strength comes from here, not just your arms.” He moved on, his words a continuous stream of guidance, encouragement, challenge. “Keep your guard up,” he told another, his hand lifting the wolf's arm into the proper position. “You expose yourself here. Protect yourself.”

Doesn't coddle me or tell me to "honor my body." He pushes. Hard. "Again," he says as I stumble through a defensive stance. "Your weight is too far forward. If someone shoves you, you'll go down." "I'm trying—" "Try harder." He demonstrates the correct position. "Like this. Center of gravity low. Knees bent. Ready to move in any direction." I copy his stance. My thighs burn within seconds. "Better. Hold it." I hold it. Shaking. Sweating. "Good. Now I'm going to push you. Don't let me knock you over."