Well, if you wonder why I am sitting here on this rough grey rock in the middle of the clearing with a sword that looks as if it came from midevil times, then I think you should sit down for a moment while I explain.

Fang and I were watching a movie that displayed two guys in rags clashing silver, gleaming swords against one another's, and fight to the death or until one surrenders. It was a horrible, brutal world of using swords freely, and mostly not for good purposes. Fang and I agreed it was a sick and cruel.

We loved it.

The real idea of using real swords didn't pop into our brains very quickly. Not just because we didn't know where to by them, but because we two are bird brains. I still haven't the slightest clue what twelve times zero is. But I'm sure you don't know either, so I don't care.

We used pencils instead, clashing them and gliding them and outright breaking them. The wood would chip and we'd laugh as we abused the pencils even harder, until I fake killed Fang or he fake killed me. Although some times, I was afraid he was actually out to get me... Anyways, the irony in our pencil fighting was there. Fang is such a good pencil fighter that I had begun to wonder why his hand writing sucked serious cupcakes. Yes, serious cupcakes, do not ask. Whole other story.

Then, as I grew 'tempered' at my very cheated losses, I began to challenge Fang to a real sword fight, where my pencil wouldn't break, and I'd definitely be more skilled.

"Whatever," I'd say. "I'd like to see you beat me at a real sword fight. What? Oh, little Fangy scaredy? Don't worry, Maxamillion is here!"

He didn't look scared at all. Instead he'd raise his eyebrows and smirk. While I love his little lopsided smile, it made me feel like something was about to happen.

I was finally right.

One night after I threatned Fang, there was a note and something wrapped in a rectangular form.

I read the note, which said;

You challenge

I'll defeat

I'll have you begging at my feet

Love, Fang

I had no idea whether to laugh at his cocky rhyming or to be afraid. While I'm a serious bird brain, I fortunately house common sense. I knew what was wrapped up,

Sure enough, I ripped and tore at the wrapping to find a silver, shimmering sword with a green handle. It was a work of beauty, and I almost had to sheild my eyes. Never had I ever seen something so beautiful, such a masterpiece. I played with its weight in the hand, practicing little swivles and swiped and pokes, and soon I was fighting an invisible enemy,, sweating and jumping and sweating and running and flipping and screaming. Until Fang burst into the room, with a devilish grin on his face. I looked down and examined myself. It looked as if I'd been working out.

My hair was a mess, my shirt was hanging off of one shoulder, one of my sweat pant legs was above my knee, and to top it all off, I was sweating like a fat boy after a two minute run. I looked up and asked, "How long have you been here?"

He look at me with a glint in his eyes. "A long time." The he smirked. He moved close to me and leaned down to whisper in my ear. "We meet at the clearing in an hour, midnight. And trust me, you'll be at my feet." Then he kissed my cheek and left the room.

I stood amazed at his ability to say more than three words in a breath. How un-Fang like.

And now, as you can imagine, and as I've stated before, I sit here on the rock in the clearing. Its midnight now, and I can hear rustling in the bushes. I get of the rock, searching for any sight of the ninja I call Fang. I listen, my needs bent and my sword sturdy in hand.

I feel a breath that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I immediatly turn around, swinging my sword, but no Fang is in sight.

I turn back around, and there he is. His wings are spread out and the moon is glinting off his black-clad self. He is breath taking. And identical to his sword, which comes slashing at me. I quickly dodge it, and we go into a fighting mode. Many times he came so close to getting me, and many time I almost killed that cupcake. But right now I am at his feet. He knocked my sword out of my hand, and the momentum send me crashing to the ground.

He got on his knees sword in hand, and aimed at my throat with the point of it. I speedily tried to back away until my head hit a tree and I was forced into the cool dirt. He straddled me, cool sword against my throat, and he smiled.

"I told you you'd be at my feet." Then he took the sword away from my throat and thrust his lips on mine. His lips were perfect, as always. Him warm lips mirror mine. Or it could be vice versa. He carried me up and leant me gently against the tree still kissing me with the same vigor he always has.

His performance came to a close a he drew away, a big grin showing his pearly whites. Another wonder of Fang.

"I won." He whispered, and fled with his sword.

I sighed. He definitely won.