...cause the town guard was not likely to break apart combatants spitting only words in each other's face. The witty return would gain him useful snickerings, even a little renown, such as the kind the mob lends to any fight favourite.

"Tiring of the loud lout" -- Drakon's puffed out words hung before his nose, and he smiled -- "Retired to the forest heart and refreshed me in the night air before going to my bed."

The forest heart that was more companion to Drakon than any hired protector ever could be!

Drakon sat on his mossy log, beaneath the night sky hard with stars, almost at ease again -- when suddenly that lout and a great bear charging up his backside crashed through the slumbering trees. Naturally startled-- catching all of that grimace on Borysko's straining face -- Drakon tipped off his comfortable log -- registering the situation, and reflexively cast the first spell he knew, like someone who knew no magic might throw up his hands before his face.