You're My Home (completed)

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"He's going to get himself killed!" Rachel yelled, speed walking toward the crowd of people. She tucked her arms in and shoved with her elbows. "Excuse me. Ouch...sorry. Excuse me."

When she got to the front of the crowd, she looked around for Collin. His height, being what it was, made it fairly easy to spot him. The men were picking their weapons from a pile.

"This year isn't choreographed," a woman whispered, loud enough for Rachel to overhear.

She turned and interrupted the woman's conversation. "What are the rules then?"

The older woman pursed her lips, "I think it's just no head shots. All they're using is sticks anyway. Plus, they have all that armor. I can't imagine it'll be that bad."

The woman's friend spoke up, "You never know. Last year, didn't one man get taken to the hospital?"

Rachel turned back to the battlefield, her pulse faster than usual. Her gaze found Collin again. His blonde hair danced in the breeze, the sun giving it a subtle shine.

"He had to fill out a form," Willow said, appearing from the crowd.

"Why would you even let him do this? You knew he's..." she shook her head. "Whatever."

"He wanted to."

"I don't care. He's my responsibility."

Willow thought before speaking, "But didn't you say you don't want him to be your responsibility?"

Rachel crossed her arms over her ribcage. A taller person stood on Rachel's other side, and she glanced up. Mike stared back at her, through dark hair that fell over his forehead.

"You can't avoid me forever," he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

"I can try."

The announcer stood atop a small podium and read the scroll of rules. "By order of the King, this year's weapon of choice will be staves or hands. Hitting one's opponent on the head is not permitted. Anyone seen performing such an act, will be removed from the battle. By rule, if you are struck you must proceed to lie still until the battle is finished and the winner is announced. In the name of the King...let the battle begin!"

Collin charged into action. A man swung a weapon at him, but Collin blocked the hit and kicked the man onto his back. The end of Collin's staff hit the man in the chest as if it were a blade driving through his heart.

Collin spun to face the next two attackers, each appearing well-built under their armor. Collin made them look like scrawny sixth graders. He swept his staff under one man's feet, taking him down. Then he slashed the weapon around and it collided against the other man's belly. Resistant to obeying the rules of the battle, the man remained standing and sneered at Collin. Collin gave him a shove by jamming the end of his staff into the center of the man's shoulder blades. With a push like that, the man was on the ground, face first.

Each attacker that came his way, Collin destroyed—figuratively speaking. He truly was a natural warrior.

"Gosh, if that's not attractive...I don't know what is," Willow said.

"You're really dating that guy?" Mike asked.

Rachel was oblivious to them both. She watched in amazement as the final few men hit the grass.

"Huh?" she responded, dazed.

Collin stood in the middle of the battle field, his weapon still clenched with an iron fist. A sea of men playing dead surrounded him.