I've been having heaps of computer problems lately. I haven't been able to write in months and now I've discovered that I've become woefully ot of practise. So, before I even attempt to continue my more lengthy/serious works (read: Candle to Light Your Honour), I'm going back to my fluff/humour roots, using my favourite Myles.
Kit, December 2004
P.S: Thanks to Treanz-Alyce for pointing out paragraph...er...repitition. And to Amethyst for spelling nitpicks.
1: Tools of the Trade: An Introduction
He was a pathetic sight, no two ways about it. Exhausted after half an hour; panting, sweating, shaking with the effort of standing. The sunlight glared into the boy's eyes, and hanks of flyway hair joined it.
As long as any girl's, the Training Master thought, disgusted. He bruises like a girl, too.
He was too small, a soft midge in the other man's shadow. He liked his food too much. He was a waste.
He was completely and utterly incompetent.
"Well, boy? I thought I told you to improve your technique, quickly."
"I read several books about it. All the good ones, by Raven Armory and the General's Collection, sir."
"Books? You won't get a Knight Master by--"
"And," continued Myles of Olau, "I've come to the conclusion that there is very little technique to hitting people hard with a big stick."