Written In The Scars

Prologue

A storm of sand and dust flurries by the feet of the two boys as they slide across the dusty field, grappling for victory in every swing of their wooden swords.

Another powerful swing from his opponent and the boy just about ducks in time to avoid it. Gripping his weapon he readies it to strike and lunges forward. However, his partner is just as stealthy and dodges his attack with the hilt of his weapon, pushing his force against the boy. It becomes a battle of the strength as they glare at each other with clenched teeth, sweat sliding down their chins.

The boy almost gives in, fatigue burning his muscles, but he slides his wooden sword up and pushes the final time, which thankfully, is enough to force his opponent back. They huff with exhaustion and begin circling each other again. His opponent smiles, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, which in turn makes the boy laugh.

"We'll be at this for hours,"

"Unless you decide to give up,"

"Never," and with those words, he storms forward posing his weapon to strike. Again it becomes a series of assaults and resistance, kicking up another plume of sand.

The boy watches his opponent carefully, waiting for an instance where he tires and it isn't long before he does. Swooping his feet across the sand, his enemy lands on the ground with a thud,  his weapon falling from his grasp.

This is it. In a matter of seconds, the boy grips his sword and lunges it towards his opponent, readying for it to drive straight through soft skin.

But it doesn't because right before it could, he stops it, hovering the tip of the dull blade just over the heart.

The two boys stare at each other wide-eyed and huffing for breath when a roar of gasps erupts from beside them.

His opponent smiles.

"You got me,"

The boy lowers his weapon and flings it to the ground behind him, returning the smile. He holds out his hand and his opponent takes it, pulling himself off the ground.

"It was a close call, Sahib,"

His opponent hisses.

"I've told you not to call me that,"

The boy chuckles.

"I apologise, but with eyes on us, I must be respectful,"

"There you go again! What happened to friends?"

His partner claps his tanned back just as a maid comes running towards them cradling a leather skin sack, it's tummy bulging with water. The boy watches with envy as his friend bends his neck back and first splashes the water over his face before bringing the sack to his mouth. With each gulp, his throat constricts, his Adam's apple bobbing.

A clear opening of his neck.

The boy clenches his fist. Now would have been the perfect time to drive his weapon straight across the Prince's exposed throat, bringing an end to his task. But he couldn't. Not only was his wooden sword not sharp enough to kill, but they also had many observing maids and servants, who he knew was secretly present only to keep an eye on him.

"Here,"

The boy knocks out of his murderous thoughts when the young Prince nudges the water sack to him.

"Thank you," he replies, taking it and slowly lifting it to his chapped lips, noticing from the corner of his eyes, the maid giving him a scrutinizing look. Cool liquid rushes through his body, instantly calming the raging fire inside.

"Do you know why I like training with you?" The Prince mutters as the boy wipes the last drops of water from around his mouth.

Out of courtesy, he didn't ask and instead waits for the young boy of royalty to reply.