Beginning of something

“Typical, isn't it?” Kik's ears registered his friend's words at the exact moment that his mouth said: “Huh?” He knew that this habit made him look more stupid and/or deaf than he actually was, but had as yet been unable to prevent himself from doing it.
“Typical. The rain. It's stopped.”
“Oh yes, right. Bastards the lot of them.”
“Are you entirely with it, Kik?”
“How would you feel after an eight-mile run, a wall climb in the rain with no ropes, and several hours of hitting a bag of straw with, what is essentially, let's face it, a stick?”
“You forget,” laughed Brack, “I'm actually a level four trainee. Today was a ten-mile run wearing our packs, a wall climb while carrying a large bag of flour designed to emulate a small child, and, well, several hours of hitting a bag of straw with a stick. Some things don't change until level five. But that's still a good deal more than you, boyo, so stop complaining.”
“Yeah, but it's all relative, isn't it?”
“Relative?”
“Yeah, like... Even when you're not training, I've seen you go for runs and stuff. And your five-a-sides and all that? For fun! You actually do this kind of stuff 'cause you want to! Voluntarily!”
“Oh is that what 'voluntarily' means? I'd always wondered.”
“Alright, smartarse, but it bears repeating, because, yes, I'll say it again, you do this for fun. Do you have any idea just how incomprehensible that is to me? I organise my whole day, nay, my whole life to involve as little movement as possible.”
“You seem strangely proud of that fact.”
“The point is... What is the point? Oh yes, the point is, it's relative. To someone who runs about all the time like you, a ten-mile run is like a skip through a meadow. It's all happy fun times, certainly not arduous. Whereas to someone like me who's... more cerebrally oriented-”
“Lazy.”
“Someone,” Kik increased his volume, “whose skills tend more towards the mental than the physical – to people like us, even a five-mile run is sheer torture. Ergo, even though you've done more than me, I'm much more tired than you.”
“Ah, well if it's 'ergo', then OK.” Brack grinned as Kik tried to shove his shoulder, succeeding only in losing his footing in the deep mud and sliding towards a group of level-five trainees who looked positively horrified to see this shambolic third-level careering towards them in a whirlwind of limbs. As one, the group lifted their chins high into the air, turned their backs, and contrived to walk in a manner which said, in no uncertain terms, that they had nothing to do with the undignified pair.
“Just think,” said Kik, regaining his balance and rejoining his friend, “that'll be you in a few months. Once you've been in the Cave, you can be just as up yourself as they are. Won't that be fun?”
“Oh ha, ha. Please stop bringing it up. I'm trying to pretend it's not really happening.”
“We really are completely opposite people. You do love the running about, but you don't want to get to the point where you actually learn why we've been going through all this?”
“I don't 'love the running about', as you put it. I mean, I'm not, like, actually scared of it, like some people seem to be,” Kik rolled his eyes, “but I'm only doing it so I can protect the town one day. I'd just kind of thought that 'one day' would never come. I mean, all the stories you hear. Aren't you terrified to actually see a Visitor?”
Kik looked embarrassed. The crowd of trainees was thinning now, the various groups disbanding as their members headed home for well-deserved dinners. Stopping where he was, Kik let the rest of the stragglers pass them by, before turning to his quizzical friend and muttering: “I have.”
“Have what?”
“Seen a Visitor.”
“Yeah right, little man, of course you have.”
“I'm not joking.” There was something in Kik's voice which Brack hadn't heard before, a deadpan quality which caused Brack to pause and look closely at his friend's face. As far as he could tell, Kik was telling the truth. But that was impossible.
“That's impossible,” was all he could find to say. “The Ausculters' Bell hasn't rung since long before you were born, boyo. Everyone's far too scared of us – well, the level-fives and up, anyway – that they wouldn't dream of calling a Visitor. It just doesn't happen any more. That's why we're here.” Brack's smug expression began to fade with the solemnity of Kik's response:
“They exist. Just 'cause the Bell hasn't rung doesn't mean there haven't been any Visitors. I mean think about it, it's been so long since the last confirmed attack, don't you reckon there'd be mass panic if one happened now? So if it did, do you really think the Council would want people to know about it?”
“So what, you're saying they happen all the time? Visitors everywhere?”
“I don't know. But I do know that I've seen one. Helped to kill it too.” The lack of bravado in the last statement certainly made it sound true, but Brack still doubted until he saw Kik's face. Behind the mud, sweat and grime of the day, his eyes were blinking frantically, trying to banish the hot tears amassing there. Not knowing what to say, Brack stood in the thick mud and freezing air, waiting until his friend felt moved to continue. Kik's voice was thick and blurred as he said simply:
“It killed my dad.”