Tycondrius placed his hand on his chin, examining the young Archer. Victorius had taken no injuries on the run. He stood with his chest out, full of vigor in his heart and a courageous fire in his eyes.
He would have been impressed... that is, if the boy wasn't so vehemently insisting upon his cowardice.
Tycon took a deep breath, trying not to let irritation mark his voice... "Just as I asked Tanamar before you... I'd like a reason."
His gaze sharpened, "A. proper. reason."
Victorius grimaced briefly.
"I'm injured, Sir," He admitted without shame.
"Seven flame-f*cked hells, are you being serious?" Tycon took a step forward, gritting his teeth and trying not to strangle the boy. "Victorius of House Vanzano, I've seen you run. If it doesn't hurt terribly to move, you can swing a wooden stick just. as. well."
