A bosmer boy fell to the ground in tears, and looked up sobbing at his assailants.
"Only four drakes!" A dark elf bully emptied a coinpurse into his hand. "You've been getting lazy!"
"I'd say so!" A nord boy had grabbed a twig and poked the bosmer's belly. "We gots us a soft boy!"
"Haha, you're fat!" The dark elf laughed. "And your hair looks stupid."
The bosmer scrambled to his feet and ran. The stinging tears blurred his vision. He ran away to the one place where bullies couldn't get to him: the arena. There, he could pretend he was one of the warriors in the pit. He could admire their strength, their ferocity. He used to study them for some sort of technique, some secret. But he soon learned that even the best training gave way to desperate instinct when your life is on the line.
And good instinct was just something he didn't have.
The seats were mostly empty this morning. It was only pit dogs battles scheduled on Mundas mornings. But in his opinion, some of the best battles were between the pit dogs. He could relate to them: trampled and disrespected. He could dream with them. Any one of these put dogs could rise through the ranks and become the next champion. Maybe even dethrone the gray prince.
And just as he was daydreaming of an underdog hero, there she was.
A/N: For years, I have let my stories go so early that I didn't even bother to post them. So I'm flexing my typing muscle and writing this trash pretty much stream-of-consciousness so that I can actually finish something. Please roast.