Sword tells more truth than books; its parting wisdom from vanity.
Fight.
Wyldon sighed. Why was it that so many pages decided to have philosophical debates these days? Yes, it was true that all the washouts would leave by the end of the first year, but it was the way they got around telling him. Mithros bless, he had gotten so tired of 'I fell' that he was wishing- no, praying for a new excuse soon. It would provide some tiny bit of amusement. He remembered his days as a page, and the number of times he gave the traditional excuse. He had almost made it without any scrapes and bruises... almost.
He sighed. He supposed that the fights did do him a favor of picking out which ones wouldn't pass the Chamber, but still…
There came a knock on his door, and another group of rowdy pages stood before him.