Intrinsic

I caught that lethal glint in his eyes then caught the boy's arm with one hand and snatched the dagger out of the other hand. Literally dragging him, thrashing and wailing the air to the wagon platform, I shoved him to sit on one of the stairs. I stood right there in front of him, drawing in a ragged breath to try and calm myself before I spoke. I'm afraid it was not quite enough to keep the long winded runons from having their own razor edge to them.

Did he truly think that killing Third son of Duran was the answer to this ... this ... whatever ... dispute the two boys had between them?

The blade still clinched in my fist, brought up eye level to punctuate those words.

Didn't he have any care at all of what consequences would follow such an action?

It was the end of one fingertip that drove into his forehead and not with any loving gentleness either.

This was his best weapon and if he didn't know yet how to wield it, then now was definitely the time to learn.

Whatever it was that had set Me Too off, paled in comparison to how he was prepared to handle it and for once I was not thinking like a barbarian.

Think boy ...

What is it that he was trying to prove ... that he was merely a savage? That he had no value of the law of his own people or that he was by far better at raiding, pillaging and plundering? Did he want Third Son to know that the blood that ran through his veins was just as thick and rich or did he want to let the other boy best him by letting him defeat his own self?

If he wanted to instill fear, create self doubt in his opponent, let him stew in his own emotions then use stealth, use cunning, use his inner potentials

... mark his territory.

I still had hold of his arm when I continued on up the stairs and dipped beneath the flap. Once inside I jammed the small hand into a jar of yellow paint then looked him square in the eye.

Take nothing...
leave only a whisper.

When he had accomplished his task then ... and only then, would he be allowed the return of the dagger, when he proved himself worthy to carry it. There would come a day when he would face a true enemy but it would not be a native brother. One day .. he would need to know that brother was there standing at his side or had his back.

Skies, I wasn't sure if I were creating a monster or just painting the brick path yellow. I turned to walk away so that he could not see the flood of my own doubts in all that little spiel of mine wash over my features.

I kept walking even when the first dots of white began to touch my cheek. When I looked up the sky was a synthetic cotton ball .. not quite white but fluffy. The air was becoming solid in its mist forming something rare .. snow. It was like rice powder falling from the brush of a geisha. Was this the sky's way of marking it's territory? Taking nothing and leaving only a whisper? If there was any doubt in my mind, it was all erased when movement turned my attention. Nestled between the thorns of a wild bush sat a blood red crested thren.