Before this begins I have to apologise. I have been buried in assignments. Two thousands words due (which always harder to write than 2000 words of this) with over 4 days of research in Latin (meaning I had to translate it all), a separate translation of something for a different subject, an analysis of a different one yet again, a work on the education system in Australia in comparison to that of other countries, along with two separate meetings of friends I haven't seen in either a year or 6 months and a huge family wedding. And its constantly 30 degrees and I hate summer.

I have no excuse for the shitty nature of this chapter.

Horace looked both ways before running across the open space in front of him. He knew that it probably went against any advice that the rangers had given him but at this point he really couldn't care less. He had an unevenly balanced, wooden sword in his right hand and was using his left to brace himself should he fall.

The way he was running probably was the most suspicious thing he had ever done. It appeared as though he was lame in both legs or feet or something along those lines whilst he attempted to be really quiet. Every time he placed his foot down he quickly tried to mots anything possible noise making thing out of the road, meaning he was completely leaning on one foot for that second longer. It was almost comical and very certainly more exhausting that normal running.

Finally he made it to an area he deemed to be far enough away that the witch wouldn't know he was gone, and yet still close enough that he wasn't getting shocked constantly. Those shocks were the most annoying part of it all, however did help towards his fencing skills.

During the day, if he stopped doing enough actions to satisfy something, he was given a shock to begin moving again. They thankfully stopped during the night in order for him to get enough sleep to be able to function the next day properly, however eating was considered a soft activity and majority of the time the shocks caused him to forgo it. In fencing terms however it meant that he continually moved around, constantly looking for the holes in the guard of his opponent.

So whilst he grew weaker from the last of sustenance, he also grew fitter. It was an interesting concept.

Before he began he checked his "sword" over quickly. It was more a habitual action rather than a rational one as the sword was a crude wooden one that he had fashioned one night when he wasn't able to get any sleep. It had rough edges and was more likely to give him a splinter than actually injure someone, but it was keeping his skills slightly sharp. Deeming the sword to be appropriate for his practice Horace placed it off to one side and began his warm up exercises.

Feeling all of his muscles stretched, or at least what he had time for, he picked up his sword.

Parry, riposte.

Attack to the high line.

Counter attack.

As he continued he went from naming each action in his head to calling it out in a similar way to how battle school would have called them. His only unnoticed issue was that this time was calling them aloud. Eventually he lost all notice of his surroundings, just losing himself to the intricate dance fencing is.

Due to this he also didn't realise someone sneaking up on him and watching. Two minutes after he stopped moving for a small break he was able to sense their eyes on him. Half a second he paused, not long enough for the other person to realise they had been noticed but long enough for Horace to mentally berate himself for the slip up.

"I see how it is now. Am I not giving you enough work to keep you constantly busy. I can fix that for you," the person in the bushes said. Horace, who was at this point facing the other direction pulled a face but managed to keep his voice civil.

"I was just making sure that I didn't waste any of the hours of the day."

"Lies!" was hissed from somewhere off to the left of him.

"You are traitor," came from his right.

"Hush," the witch said, still behind him.

"Why? He is going against the wishes of the commanders of the kingdom by leaving his post in the castle to join the ranger. He deserves to be excuted."

"He should never be given a high position."

"He'll be regulated to a small kingdom on the outer edges of the island where no one cares about him."

"Knowing his luck there won't be a proper messaging system and he will never have contact with his friends ever again who won't even know where he went."

"They will feel betrayed. How dare you leave them in this time of crisis."

The multitude of voices all originated from separate areas in the circle of trees surrounding the clearing. Each one chilled Horace to the bone, as they all knew what he feared at this point of his life. His pretence of not being scared was all gone now as he shook with a bone rattling ferocity.

"NO!" he yelled suddenly.

"It's all true, young boy," the witch said coming out of the bushes. She had changed her appearance. Now she was a young woman roughly Horace's age with brunette hair and emerald green eyes that drew him in.

"You will never need to practice poking things with a pointy stick ever again."

Horace found himself nodding. The message she just told him felt true. "It won't be necessary," he responded.

The trance he was under was broken by the witch's slap to his right cheek. "Then never do it again," she snapped. Suddenly she started walking off back to her cabin. After about 15 meters Horace felt the familiar shocks to say he was too far away from her.

Unnoticed by him, she grinned. There was one way to punish such an act of disobedience like that and thankfully there was a professional flogger in town to help.

Not in the way that some of you are thinking...

XD

-Alyss Mainwaring