MINIFIC LIGHTNING ROUND

Steel sung as the pair performed a deadly dance. A smooth slash, met by casual counter as grassy ground was given and taken in equal measure.

The younger of the two lunged forward and was punished for it by a ringing blow to the helmet. As he reeled backwards, trying to regain his senses, he heard, “Being aggressive may defeat a less-skilled opponent swiftly, but you’ll only find your end on the edge of another’s blade if you don’t first test their skill.”

The colt, with his ego now smarting along with his skull, replied, “Sorry, Father.”

His father barked a laugh. “It is not to me you should be sorry! After all, I won’t suffer quite as much as you if you’re gutted by a spear. Now, are you ready to try again, Strike?”

A furrow appeared in the ground as Strike widened his stance, hooves planting into the earth like a tree spreading its roots. “I’m always ready.” His head lowered, putting the helmet and the dulled horn saber on it between himself and his attacker.

Amber eyes watched as his father paced a circle around, as if he was examining the best point to tear down a castle’s walls. “Really, you’re always ready?” A darting cut, easily turned away. Stepping back onto the self-made path, his father said, “Do you mean to tell me that you’re ready when sleeping? What of when you make water behind a bush; is that a piss of readiness?”

The stallion leapt forward, his horn saber coming down in a vicious arc. Strike ducked under it. Head lowered, the colt made to drive the saber’s point forward, only to find himself bulled by the weight of his father. Strike’s neck was forced up by a shoulder, then wrapped by his father’s forelegs. The world spun before gracing his cheek with an earthen kiss.

“Were you ready for that?” his father asked while brushing dirt off of his greying coat.

“…No,” Strike grunted while forcing himself up.

Snorting, the stallion replied, “You should have been. I wasn’t blessed with the name Grand Grappler for nothing.” Grappler trotted over and helped Strike up. “Just like how your name isn’t Swift Strike because you go on the defensive. Play to your strengths.”

Shaking the twigs from his chestnut mane, Swift said, “But you just told me to not be so aggressive.”

“I told you to not jump at your opponent like starved mutt going for a bone. You can be as aggressive as you want once you know what they’re keeping up their fetlocks. Being surprised on the battlefield tends to leave you being dead as well.”

Swift deflated. “I suppose I’m not ready to use a horn saber after all.” He slid the chin strap off and put the helmet to the side.

Grappler took the helmet and put it into a pack along with his own. “We’ll work on your hoofwork for a few hours before heading back.”

Swift gave a lopsided smile. “You mean dancing.”

“It teaches you to be light on your hooves and to maintain your balance, unless you enjoyed eating dirt. Besides, a strapping young lad like you needs to know how to dance for courting.” Grappler flashed a wicked grin. “The only dance you know so far is the one you do when waiting for your sister to finish in the bathroom.”

Swift stretched his legs. “We’ll see about that, old horse. At least I can still learn new ones. Mom must be getting tired of the four-left-hooves tango after all these years. Come on, let’s get started.”