One Shot

Big and Small, We'll See It All

PROMPT

"Please don't be scared of me. I'm not dangerous, I'm just big."

Big and small, we'll see it all

*WHACK!*

Zower's fist collided hard with what he was sure was a jaw. He ducked the next boy's punch and, with a quick jab, nailed him in the gut. The boy's air was thrown from his lungs, and he crumpled. Good thing he aimed high...

He felt someone grab around his waist and attempt to lift him up. Fool. The older teen used his weight in his favor and threw his head back, sending him and the boy who attempted to grapple him to the ground. Because the boy wasn't ready for it, he was disoriented, and his head collided harshly with the ground. He groaned in pain as Zower grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him just enough to be a few inches off of the ground.

"Stay down!" he growled. His attention turned to the other brawling boys, eyes focused on his friend and the reason for this midday spat - Birrant Spennek.

Birrant, in the meantime, focused all of his energy on the one boy who was about his size. They each had gripped the other's shirt and were throwing one another around, trying to throw them off balance. The boy snarled and forced his hand up, clocking Birrant in the cheek. Birrant was sure he was going down when the eyes of the boy he was fighting widened. He let go and took several steps back in retreat as did the other boys who were nearby.

The one Zower nailed earlier forced himself to his feet and spat.

"This isn't over Speck," he said as he and his thug friends. Zower glared, his dark brown eyes practically boring holes into the boys' backs.

"See you next time then, Fayne," Zower growled.

He made sure the other boys were far down the road before turning to his friend, eyes softening slightly.

"I'd like to think you didn't provoke them, but I swear you've made it a habit to run into those rats every chance you get," stated Zower with a hint of sarcasm.

"You know I didn't," retorted Birrant as he reached up with his thumb and attempted to stanch the blood sluggishly leaking from his split lip. He looked up, practically craning his neck, to see Zower flash a sarcastic grin.

"Mmhmm," hummed Zower suspiciously. He looked down at his knuckles and checked to make sure he wasn't bleeding too bad before reaching into his side pouch and holding out a wad of herbs he collected earlier that day to his friend.

"Thanks," muttered Birrant. "I swear I'll hit my growth spurt one of these days. Let's see them pick on me then." Zower chuckled and grabbed his friend playfully around the neck, forcefully ruffling Birrant's platinum blonde hair which had been smudged with mud and blood.

"Like that'll happen," teased the older teen.

"Hey!" Birrant struggled futilely. "Not fair! You're basically an adult! You're older and stronger."

"Not really, and it doesn't matter. You should be able to fight back at this point. I go for the same moves every time," stated Zower as if he were bored. He released his friend after a few seconds and, for his actions, Zower received a comparatively weak punch to the side from his teenage friend.

"Manners," muttered Birrant. It was something his mother always said when he was misbehaving and, naturally, he mirrored the behavior.

The two teens walked off to a nearby well with a running stream to tidy up.

This had been their pattern now for many moon cycles.

Birrant would get picked on and a fight would break out, Zower would come running out of nowhere, they'd fight off the thugs together, and then the two teens would go off and talk or hang out until Zower started feeling unwell and had to go rest back at his home. Birrant offered for Zower to come and rest at his home, but it was always turned down politely with some explanation or another and would depart, promising his friend he would return the next day and fight at his side. Even though the fights were becoming a less frequent occurrence, they still happened from time to time.