Mud, Sweat... and Yet More Bruises




Falladae yowled as the branch he had been standing on snapped under his feet and he came crashing to the ground, landing among the leaflitter in a dusty, messy heap. Above him, Sylfael burst into fits of helpless hysterics. Shaking his head and pulling out the twigs, leaves and clods of mud that had accumulated about his person and glared at his friend. Sylfael ignored him, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his sides.

Falladae promptly slapped him around the hocks with the hard wooden practice sword. Sylfael yelped as his legs caved in and he landed on the ground, still laughing and the look of embarrased fury on Falladae's face.

"Brilliant Fal!" he cackled, "Absolutely brilliant! Do that in the tourney and you'll have them helpless with laughter!"

"Shut it." Falladae snapped back, hoiking his friend to his feet by the scruff of his neck, "That was a mistake. The only reason I was on that branch at all was because you were about to take my legs off if I didn't. I doubt any decent swordfighter would go for his opponent's legs. Only you and your scheming, twisted little mind would think of that."

Sylfael feigned a look of offence, but his grin destroyed all hope of illusion.

Then, both snickering, the two took off through the trees, lunging at each other as they went

The End

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