Tell him who looks for heaven, to run along to hell.
Bruises.
"Want
to collect some bruises?"
It was a perfect, beautiful, lovely day, that is, of course, if you don't remember the cold, or the snow, or the ball to be held later that night. In truth, it was a miserable day. But hey, jousting always made Kel feel better. Add torturing Sir Nealan of Queenscove, and Keladry could almost forget the party. Almost.
Again, "Want to collect some bruises?"
"No. No, no, no, no, no, no NO!" came the strong reply. "It's cold, miserable, and I don't want to go flying. Nor do I want fresh bruises."
Kel breathed a sigh of exasperation. "The indoor practice courts are warm, and, can I help it that I'm a better jouster than you?"
"I was enjoying the holidays. You know, the one that comes around every year?" came the cross reply.
"Meathead, I don't care that you like the peace. I wanna joust with you!"
With that said, Kel jerked Neal off his bed, grabbed his gear, and brought him to face his almost certain death."