A/N: This is a companion piece to 'A Memoir of Wisdom' - however, it isn't necessary for you to read that first. Do leave a thought; I love hearing from you all!
Dedication: Once again, to Erin - I'm not capable of giving you half of what you've given me. But I can try.
The Will of a Warrior
(or, A Lesson in Self-Belief)
I: Tactics
(or, the interactions between a brother and a sister)
"Technique is noticed most markedly in the case of those who have not mastered it."
-Leon Trotsky.
He is defined, as most people are, by his relationships with others.
"Perhaps," his sister says, disarming him with the slightest flick of her wrist, "you might fare better if you actually thought before attacking."
He is heaving, panting, his breath coming in rapid, shaky gasps, and she hasn't broken a sweat.
But – he smiles, grins widely, the fire in his eyes flaring. "I rather think that takes the fun out of the fight."
"Your philosophy is that of a barbarian - " she begins, and is cut off as he feints, reaches, throws dirt into her face and reclaims his weapon, all in the manner of a few moments. She swears, barely bringing her blade up in time to block his. "I disarmed you!" she cries, and he relishes having thrown her off-balance. It isn't every day one can claim the honor of catching Pallas Athena off-guard.
"You should've cut my throat," he sneers, pressing her backward, "while you had the chance."
Her mouth sets in a thin, hard line – accepting him, once again, as a worthy enemy. It never ceases to amuse him how, in spite of her wisdom and intelligence, she always, always underestimates him.
She ought to know, better than anyone, what he is capable of.
Infinite evolution.
You may presume to read a person's face, to understand his abilities, to be capable of countering him if he strikes you – but until you are aware of his baser instincts, you will never, never defeat him.