Cathalan looked at the man before him, his eyes begging for a short break. His sword was drooped in exhaustion and he was breathing hard. Sweat was running down his face and his usually perfectly coiffed hair was in disarray. Cathalan's eyes went distant as he remembered how he got to where he was.
A painful blow brought him out of his memories and he raised his practice sword in an automatic defense. He swung to wide and received another hard aimed blow.
“Again my lord,” Gescano, his squire, was relentless as he drilled his master in the sword.
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