They give me the sense we can do anything. Better than anyone else. Maybe even better than those dukes in their little villages."
Luther grinned but did not protest. "Then let's proceed to the training. If we never surrender, eventually they will know our names."
They laughed across the hills as night descended upon the earth. They had no idea how late it was—only that tomorrow they would return to this place again.
The sun was positioning itself in the west, painting the sky orange. John and Luther had practiced for hours, their small hands stinging from holding the wooden sticks, their bodies exhausted but with a sense of urgency. Tired or not, they did not want to stop.
"Let's do it again,"
Luther exclaimed,
standing up from his sitting position and holding his stick in the air.
John groaned, rolling around on the grass.
"You'll kill me before we ever become warriors. My arms are falling off."
Luther sneered. "Afraid of losing?"
