He felt the sword leave his body as it flung his blood on the ground, for its wielder was strong, skilled, and agile. It wasn't everyday that he got a sword thrust into his stomach. He felt the fire as his innards told him that he wasn't airtight anymore. His opponent recovered from the lunge and prepared to strike again. As the blade came at him, Estevan couldn't help but snicker. He could hear the armor chinking together as his foe moved to strike.
That poor soul was going to need that armor.
Estevan easily sidestepped the first strike, and parried the second blow with his wooden staff. He found the opening and took it, getting his adversary right between the ribs, sending him back and on his haunches; he rushed forward, not skipping a beat, and quickly relieved the sword from its owner's possession. He then proceeded to whack the poor boy as he tried, quite horribly, to ward off the blows with his bare hands.
"I yield," came a young man's voice from behind a masked head.
The bashing didn't stop.
"I said, I YIELD!" this time it was a shout that rang out.
Estevan let up his blows. "At least I got you that time," the young man said hopefully as Estevan pulled him to his feet. "I let you get me," he said with a fatherly tone in his voice. "You know, William, it's not a bad thing to appear weak if it gets your opponent overconfident in their abilities." He looked at William with a knowing eye. The young man pulled off his helmet and gave Estevan a puzzled look as he sat on the ground.
"Maybe you'll remember that the next time you decide to get into a brawl with Charles over a silly argument about whose master is the best. I really don't need you to prove to everyone else that I'm the best; everyone already knows it." He winked at William and went over to his pack in the grass, grabbed two small vials, and chucked one at William, who caught it without the need to look. Estevan smiled as he downed the red liquid, and relief swept over him as his wounds closed themselves up and the fire that was burning in his gut quickly dissipated into a wonderful nothingness.
"Now then, since the lesson for today is over, how about we get back to our regular sparring?" William looked up, sighed, and walked over to where his sword lay, downed the curative potion and threw the vial into the grass. He retrieved his sword, put his helmet back on, and assumed the ready stance before letting out a fierce barrage of blows.
Estevan smiled. There may be hope for him yet.
[Ok, so here is my first short story (yes, it is very short). Feedback would be wonderful if there is any to be given. Love y'all, peace out!]
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