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We were not yet friends the first time I hit him so. We were both new to the Guildhall, both friendless. Our classmates had paired off to practice wrestling in the Bardhall’s open yard, and we were left with each other. He sneered at my size; I laughed at his girlish voice. He shoved me to the mud; I caught his hair and yanked him down with me. He spat in my face; I slammed my fist into his chin. He fell to the ground like a cloth doll.
I waited for him to rise, but he didn’t. He lay still, his head cocked to the side, his limbs sprawled oddly. The wind chilled my back, and all the other bards-in-training turned and stared. I stood frozen while Master Meiltung walked up.
"That’s one way to end a fight. Not all are affected in that way, so don’t count on it." He pulled Sharp into a sitting position and patted his face until he awoke.
It is strange how an act of cruelty and the guilt that comes with it can lead to friendship. By the end of the week we were sworn brothers, inseparable for the next five years.
Yet this sworn brother had just tried to kill me.
