Death of Kain

Two warriors stood solemnly apart. It was respect---small due for the opponent, mostly for the
imminence. They took their stances and examined one another; each was careful not to betray
his incipient fear.

A circling began. A dance. They moved ponderously, at first, to belie the unbridled anxiety and
wild palpitation of their hearts. Each successive step quickened with the accession of poise.
When the trance had taken them and stripped them down so that each man evinced his true
strength and facility, they struck.

One man steadied himself then lunged at his advancing opponent. The defender narrowly
sidestepped the threat and continued forward with his weapon positioned high. As the attacker
retracted the thrust, a counterattack was launched.

In anticipation, the man ducked and leaned away, but he heard, felt, the rush of air as danger
barreled past his head. He tightened his grip and compressed his body like a spring. When he
uncoiled his attack, its arc was wide and defensive. Still, the momentum from the missed attack
prior had sent his opponent out of position.

The edge of the attacker's weapon swept underneath the other man's arm and bit into his side.

They withdrew then paused---not to process, but to breathe. There was no thinking: only instinct.

The second clash was brief. A haphazard swing was checked, but it was already over; adrenaline
had not made salient the decisiveness of that initial cut.

The injured man could feel his fight escaping. It was flowing out of him in bright crimson. He
grasped at it as if he could collect it---return it. He was losing volume; he was losing weight in a
literal sense, yet his body grew heavier.

He dropped down onto his knee and nodded his head. It was not an admission to his attacker, it
was reflexive. The shock had compelled him to acknowledge his defeat.