The fight ended exactly like the last one. That was the first thing I noticed.
My opponent—he was a mountain of a man with a beard like a bramble patch and a sword that weighed more than I did—went down with a crack that I'd come to recognize. Not a fresh crack. A familiar one. The same crack. The same angle of fall. The same spray of dirt that landed on my boots in an identical pattern. I stood over him, breathing hard, my cheap wooden practice sword still raised. Around...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 9 Vue 0 Aperçu