But then Tilney steels himself, prepares to attack. Bartholomeo is momentarily taken aback, because they haven't sparred since they were boys! Back when they were young colts tussling for dominance, their bodies flooded with fledgling testosterone and their antlers mere nubs atop their heads, they'd play-fight all the time. Those memories are fond ones for the stag, yet they are intrinsically mixed up with images of Jack at that age, the two tendrils of thought tangled together like ship's rope. His son hadn't had any brothers to spar with, but there had been a few colts in Bart's crew of a similar age, and Jack had acquitted himself admirably against boys that were usually larger and more rambunctious than he was. Whenever Jack returned home from these squabbles, his skin bloodied and bruised but his face alive with glee, Bart had never scolded him. He'd just smiled happily and dreamed of the day when he would be able to cross swords with his son, teach him the true art of battle, and watch him blossom like a flower into a man.

It never happened. His spars with Tilney, however, did, and he holds them fondly to his chest like he needs them to breathe. Maybe he does.

Forcing these melancholy musings aside, the bay focuses on his opponent. Their heights are identical, but Bartholomeo's pure Warlander blood shows in his thicker build and stockier limbs. Tilney's blood is diluted with whatever his mother was - that's what happens when Father slums it with the mongrels, Bart used to jest, his eyes always twinkling with mirth - and that will undoubtedly lend the palomino greater endurance. Bart, though, has the edge on strength, and he always has his surprising agility to fall back on.

It should be an evenly matched fight, though, just like it was when they were boys. With a determined narrowing of his eyes, the stag grips his knife tighter.

Tilney charges, and the Warlander is prepared for it. Bracing his limbs against the ground (hard enough to provide good footing, soft enough to cushion the thundering hooves - perfect), he throws his weight forwards, causing Tilney's antlers to whistle past his hind end without causing any damage. Slamming on the brakes to arrest his forward momentum, Bart throws his weight to his forelegs and kicks out his back hooves twice in an attempt to slam them into his brother's right shoulder or side, depending on how fast Tilney can apply his own brakes after his failed charge. The pirate puts enough force into his attacks to hopefully hurt the paler man, but not enough to permanently wound him should he hit - that wouldn't be very brotherly!

The stag's heart beats like a staccato in his chest, and there's the widest of smiles wrapped around the knife in his mouth. This is what he lives for - the sweat brewing across his flesh, the thrum of energy in his muscles. This is what he's missed. The fact he's doing this with his brother is just the icing on an already very tasty cake.

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For @Tilney ! Set in the World's Edge, early evening, still warm but not unbearable.

1/3 - 621 words