Like the tortoise I am
“Patience!” said the master and stopped.
The boy was bleeding with the blow he had just received onto his right arm. The sword of his fellow knight was dipped into the blood of the boy. The boy was trying to hide his pain, the tears were on the verge of a break out. The moment was getting harder to pass by.
First, second, third, his blood kept on dripping from the sword.
“He is bleeding master,” said the fellow knight.
“It was you who made him bleed,” said the master sternly.
Did he not care that the boy was bleeding? Or did the boy deserve the pain that had now overtaken his mind. He dropped onto the ground, unconscious.
“Take him in,” said the master.
The fellow knight carried him on his shoulders, almost dragging him in.
“Slowly,” commanded the master. “He is not yet dead.”