Idiot lay quietly on the shattered cobblestone path, still conscious. He heard the man's footsteps recede and his parting words.
After clenching his fists, he ensured he could move. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, yet his body seemed much tougher than he and the man had expected. Yes, he was hurt badly. But not so severely that he couldn't stand.
He could have gotten up immediately to confront the man, but he didn't. Because in that brief moment, he realized far too much.
Firstly, he was no match for that man at the moment. To stand would be to court death.
Secondly, he didn't know, nor had he figured out, how to retrieve little Bread from that man's clutches.
And thirdly…
He didn't understand why his sword had almost stopped, why he couldn't strike with the lightning speed demonstrated by the clay figure in his mind.
