2:31PM

Yamra leapt at his opponent, his short and wooden sword gripped in a vice-like grasp in his hand. As he shot across the wooden planks towards his opponent, he momentarily though back to how he'd even gotten into this situation in the first place...

It was about an hour before, after he had finished another batch of dragging grain sacks into the stables, when a tall ginger approached him. He had seen him around the farm before, maybe at one of the monthly assemblies or at the hall where they all ate dinner together each evening. Either way, Yamra was a bit apprehensive as the stranger approached him. He subconsciously tightened his fingers into fists and gave the ginger a cautious stare.

Seeming unfazed by Yamra's attempt at domination, the boy -- who was only a year or two older -- extended a friendly hand.

"Randolph Gawes. Son of Nicholas Gawes. He's, ah, a friend of your uncle's. Ask him if you don't believe me."

Your dad knows Noel? OK, and?

Yamra blinked and hesitated a moment before giving Randolph a stiff handshake. "Hello. Yamra Harridan. But you know who I am, don't you?"

"Hm! A little arrogant prick, are ya?"

"No, I just know everyone on this farm knows my uncle, and by extension, know me too. Unless I'm wrong?"

Randolph paused, as if playfully leaving that possibility up in the air, but he shook his head with a chuckle. "Don't kid yourself, of course I know who you are. Hey, do you know Maggie?"

"Who?"

"That petite, gorgeous stablehand who works her shifts at the 5pm block."

"Who?"

"Well, I overhead her speaking all about her fantasies to do with you to her friends..."

"I don't know you she is -- I barely know who you are -- and I don't give a damn if she fancies me."

"Oh, really now? Not looking for a lady lover? Too young I suppose. Although, I have met this one chap who got married at your age, so I suppose it's not wholly unorthodox--"

"Randolph, was it? Please do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up. Now, why did you come introduce yourself to me all of a sudden?"

"Hm? Oh, right! Sorry, got a bit off-track there. Listen, I've been interested in why everyone is so interested in you, little man. I thought I was your charisma, but you clearly have none. Then I thought it was your looks, but you're nothing special. So -- and correct me if I'm wrong -- I'm dwindled down to just one factor: your fighting capabilities. Tell me, Yamra, are you good at sword sparring?"

The sudden topic-shift to sword sparring made Yamra's heart jump a little. If there was one other thing than farm work he was adamant about, it was sword sparring. "I am good, yeah."

Randolph seemed to get giddy at Yamra's unshaken response, and a grin of bright teeth spread across his freckled features. "Damn, really? I'll hold you to that, then, and..."

He pointed behind him, where, past a half-dozen rows of tilled earth, was a circular area bordered by chain-link fencing. In the center of this area was a low stage, nicknamed the 'sword stage.'

"If you're so confident in that, man, why not face me, huh?"

"But you're... what, fifteen? And I'm two years younger!"

Randolph adopted a smug face of displeasure. "Ah, I see. It seems you have a bad diagnosis of being a pussy?"

His mocking reply boiled Yamra's blood to the point it evaporated in his veins. He bit his lip to fight back the urge to swing at him right then. Instead, he clenched his fists and gave him a dangerous glare. "No, I don't. And you're right, Randolph, there's no need to worry if you're two years older or ten years older, I'm still gonna beat the shit outta you..."

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Back to the present, Yamra continued his blast of speed against Randolph, the older boy continuing to adopt a cocky grin on his pale face. That just drove Yamra forward more. His grip on the wooden handle of the wooden sword was getting painful. But when I shifted in front of Randolph, heading for a direct attack, the pain in his hand was flooded away in the waves of adrenaline that crashed over him like a tsunami.

He barked a roar and slashed at Randolph with the sword, only to have his attack blocked and parried. Randolph's sword slapped him in the side, and Yamra had to stop the urge to cry. As she leapt back, an unusual shift in his ribs made him double over suddenly. His knees wobbled as he panted sparsely.

"Oh, too worn out after one hit, are you, Harridan?" With a loud leer, Randolph dove for him, his long legs fast on the wooden surface of the sword stage. Luckily for Yamra, Randolph was the only one present to view his embarrassing display in the fight.

Still huffing for breath, Yamra looked up and instantly fell back, narrowly dodging an upwards-slashing strike from Randolph. He fell back on his ass and glared angrily at Randolph, his hurt ribs momentarily forgotten. "Hey, asshole, that almost knocked me out!"

At his outburst, Randolph just laughed. "Hahaha! We both know that wouldn't have knocked you out, Yamra. But if by some miracle it had, it'd have paraded your unconscious body on the back of my horse, for all in the farm to see. Then I'd drop you off at your uncle's place, your reputation of being a 'contender for the strongest' totally ruined." His cocky grin turned sultry. "Then I'd pick up your sweet-piece-of-ass cousin on that same horse, and fuck her on it."

White noise. All Yamra heard was white noise. When the boys ogled Rebekah, he got angry and even a surprising bit protective. But he'd never heard such unabated and naked words being voiced about his cousin.

And it made him angry. He reckoned he was nearly as angry as when he'd seen Gary slap Rebekah's ass the day before. He'd have torn that shit's head off, if Rebekah hadn't put him down in two hits. That was his cousin for you. But Rebekah wasn't around to respond to Randolph's unfiltered words, and that just seemed to make the air in Yamra's head combust like the spark when starting a fire. When he breathed out, his breath was long and hard, draining his lungs.

Then he inhaled again, and drew in as much air as he could muster. Then, he grabbed the sword that had unknowingly fallen from his grasp. And he charged.

He charged like all those great war generals that he looked to for inspiration everyday, heading right for Randolph and his shit-eating grin.

Well, his shit-eating gasp, more like, as Yamra cleared the three meters between them in one bound. He lashed out a kick that bent Randolph's knee to one side, but not enough to crack it and leave long-lasting damage. Instead, the ginger just cursed and fell to one knee. Then, Yamra batted his sword hand away with a sharp strike of his own. He drove another knee into his chest, feeling the ribcage shiver as it fought not to break. Another slash of a wooden sword, courtesy of Yamra, sent Randolph face-first to the ground.

He shivered and got up on his hands, but Yamra slammed his sword into the back of his head. As his opponent's body feel towards the floor away, Yamra continued his combination attack as he kicked up, making Randolph's head wretch towards the sky, leaving his face in perfect view for Yamra to smash his sword -- with the edge -- into him. Spit and snot and blood spewed as Randolph's lips burst and his nose crunched. He howled in pain, but Yamra wouldn't let up, his burning rage gone way over the tipping point.

There was no one but Randolph present to view Yamra's embarrassing display in the fight.

But that also meant there was no one but Yamra present to hear Randolph's screams of pain. And that did bring a smile to his face.

His wooden sword fell on the cowering boy, again and again, leaving red stains on the wood and purpling bruises on the ginger's pale skin. He hit him again and again, even as Randolph begged and pleaded that he had said all that just to rile him up. Oh, he had wanted to rile him up?

Well, this is me riled up, Randolph. What, don't like it anymore, pussy?

With a breathing growl, Yamra rose his red wooden sword again, ready to cave in the bastard's head with that one last strike. He leveled his breathing, then let the sword drop...

Only for it to snag on something halfway through its downward arc. With a start, Yamra looked up at the blade with a furious look on his face. He already knew what was going on.

Standing to the boys' side -- broad-shouldered, dark-haired, ruggedly handsome despite his age -- was Yamra and Rebekah's uncle, brother of Yamra's father and Rebekah's mother, Noel Harridan.

And he had his large, bear-like hand gripped tightly around the wood blade of Yamra's weapon. He paused, then looked at his nephew with a serious but pleading look. "Please drop the sword, Yamra..."

The smoothness of his voice lulled Yamra and all his fury blew away. He paused too, only for a noticeable moment, then his shoulders sagged and he let his sword get taken away by his uncle. Instead of tending to the barely-conscious, beaten Randolph, Noel took Yamra's shoulders in his hands and knelt to his level.

"Listen, Yamra, go clean up. I'll deal with the boy. Then meet me in my office before the next shift of farm workers, understand?"

Yamra bit back tears, the thoughts of what Randolph had said about Rebekah swimming in his mind. "Y-yes... sir..."