At night he watches.
The Spaniard will sneak off into the dark, and he will follow.
Inigo's sword will gleam in the moonlight as he strikes an invisible enemy, lightning quick. His hair will flick about with his every move. On warm nights he hangs his shirt on a branch or lays it on a rock, and he'll watch as sweat slides across smooth muscle. Inigo is elegant, if he uses the word correctly; so much so that his practice looks, to Fezzik, like an intricate dance rather than a killing art. It is nothing like his brute strength, usually so blocky and unrefined. Inigo fights with skill and passion.
Sometimes, usually when the moon is dark and only the stars light the sky, he will hold his sword up and stare at it for a long time. It's on those nights that Fezzik wishes him his vengeance the most.
Just once does Inigo turn to where he hides, just one precious time does he smile some secret smile and continue as if he never knew. Like he hasn't always known.
During the day Vizzini yells, Fezzik fights and people stare, but at night all of that fades away and he is only a spectator; and all the world a stage.
So at night he watches, because at night Inigo dances for him.
