Forsaken.

He spat and beckoned me forward with one hand, rolling the blade in the other. “Come on, Assassin,” he goaded me. “Come be a warrior for the first time. Come see what it feels like. Come on, boy. Be a man.” It was supposed to anger me, but instead it made me focus. I needed him alive. I needed him to talk. I leapt over the branch and into the clearing, swinging a little wildly to push him back but recovering my stance quickly, before he could press forward with a response of his own. For some moments we circled one another, each waiting for the other to launch his next attack. I broke the stalemate by lunging forward, slashing, then instantly retreating to my guard. For a second he thought I’d missed. Then he felt the blood begin to trickle down his cheek and touched a hand to his face, his eyes widening in surprise. First blood to me. “You’ve underestimated me,” I said. His smile was a little more strained this time. “There won’t be a second time.” “There will be,” I replied, and came forward again, feinting towards the left then going right when his body was already committed to the wrong line of defence. A gash opened up in his free arm. Blood stained his tattered sleeve and began dripping to the forest floor, bright red on brown and green needles. “I’m better than you know,” I said. “All you have to look forward to is death . . .”