Sweat rolled down his arm, rolling down to the hilt of his sword, causing it to become slick in his grasp. He flew through his forms with the tip of his sword arcing through the air with ease. The cold winter air did not calm his heart but it helped remove distractions. He found his footing on the royal training ground. The fluid dance continued, the teen not missing a step.
The sound of a wooden door closing and footsteps approaching caused the teen to stop. His sword through with the arc, slid into his scabbard. The teen bowed, panting lightly, “Hello, master.”
The master advanced, his battle axe decorated with silvwer hanging across his back, swinging slowly with each footstep. “Prince Mordenesk, be weary of your form as you finish your swings. The second your guard slips is the instant you lose your sword.
Mordenesk, the teen, nodded standing straight right beneath the shade of a tree. He sat down, taking of his sword and resting it at the base of the tree. The old man followed, grunting softly as he sat beside the prince taking his axe off his shoulders onto his lap.
“A question out of context if I may, master of weapons.”
The wiry old man laughed softly, meeting his gaze and nodding. “Aye boy, but know that you re due in your grandfather’s court soon, so make it quick.”
“Yes, master. Now that I am seventeen, the age my fater was when he left to prove himself, where will I go, what will I do, when will I go to prove myself?”
The old man smiled at the young prince “Go to your father Prince Mordenesk. I belive he will answer your questions.”