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Eventually the body began to rot, and the dogs, recognizing their brethren, took mercy and tore the swordsman apart, skin and muscle and bone, until the only thing that remained were the rags of clothes, the steel sword, and woe to the one who comes by the sword by accident or inheri- tance, for it is cursed with noble life without reward. Your father? she asks. Of course not, he laughs. A tale the gentry tell their children at night, for who wants their children to live the dangerous life of a swordsman? This is a sad memory? 
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I heard this story when I was young, when I was with other children my age. The story would be re-told again and again, and the other children would invent hardship after hardship for our hero. How he lost an arm defending the virtue of a young lady - I do not require defending. A grin spreads on his face. The implication was far from intended, but he cannot resist a reply: Only a vulnerable young lady would say such a thing. She gives him the last word in the form of a well-placed knee to his stomach that feels more like a tickle than an actual blow. Continue. Lost an arm.  |
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