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There had been grudging friendship after their initial discomfort. They had circled each other with words, eyes and hands; testing wit, valor and strength at every turn. One was as fair as the other was dark; one was slightly shorter but he made up for it with passion –a zealousness for life they both shared, but which the taller one kept hidden well within himself.
Their mutual friends had been wary of the possible outcomes of their relationship; if they became sworn enemies their little group would be split in half, sundered beyond alliance. But if the two ringleaders made a pact they would all operate together and everyone knew, the larger the group, double the fun.
In the end, it had been neither. Nor friends, nor enemies. The unspoken agreement between the two boys kept everyone on tenterhooks: whenever those two came across the other… would a brawl erupt or would they nod polite greetings and carry on? Both gangs found direct amusement in predicting their reclusive leaders' next moves.
As the years grew long the chances of a brawl diminished and the polite greeting became the norm, even going as far agreeing to share playgrounds, combine forces and plot together. And when the playground was abandoned for the training field, both boys would oft be seen sparring together, no ill will directing the elegant movements of their respective weapons.
However, when Darkness came, fate found them apart and forced them to their own choices with the mocking cruelty of life. Neither of them thought about the other for a long, long time; their minds swept over with their personal misery.
So, when they met again, blades drawn and eyes wild, neither the brawl nor the polite greeting ensued. Instead, a slow, reluctant and tight-lipped smile graced their equally stolid features, as they assumed positions back to back, to engage mutual enemies.
A truce had been called between lion and wolf.
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