Riga advanced toward him, spitting a viscous mix of saliva and blood that rolled into the dusty sand of Sanaa's hillside like a ball of yarn nudged by a kitten. Slowly, he reached for the cord securing his sword, untied it, and held the weapon before Shahin with a challenging glare. He placed the blade on the ground and gestured with his chin for his brother to retrieve it.
Both men, their jaws clenched in pain, began circling an invisible perimeter, watching each other like hawks, searching for any mental or physical weakness. The tension reached its peak, the animosity and resentment so palpable one could almost pluck it from the air.
