Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Cormeck in - Back in the mud.

In his eyes the deepen fire of rage fuels his heart, his muscles tighten as his thoughts fall upon the relish that he knows he'll experience when the blade hit's it's mark. Drops of sweat rolls slowly down, creating clear inroads along his bearded face.
"Ha, you expect me to stand back again, don't you, Carmeck?" he smirks with satifaction at the leather clad figure in front of him.
"And how are you suppose to do that?!".
He swoops the large head of the great axe towards the man's neck. Surprised at the sudden swing, Carmeck jumps back. A fine drop of blood forms on the his strong chin. Taking a step back, Varl brings the axe around again over head, slamming it down in front of the shocked boy.Then with a viscous sideways kick against the protected padding on the sprite's chest piece he manage to push the new-comer sprawling on the dirt and muck.
They should start sending more experienced warriors to the camp, he thinks as another disappointment falls down.
"Is this what you were trained for?" Varl shouts down at the pathetic figure.
Not meeting Varl's eyes the boy presses his hands on the mud. His whole half of his body would soon just be a husk of filth when it dries. He better get that sorted out before father comes back. The burning humility begins again. How could he face Varl so soon after last time? His brothers are leaving, so should he. Eugleth is going to kill him if he doesn't succeed. He won't. Lifting his his head with a muddy smirk, he pushes himself to strike. Is that father? The smirk fades emotionally as he turns to leave. "Where the bloody hell you think you're going? Just going to walk away like last time?" Varl kicks him back on the ground. He's not ready for this, he won't stand a chance, he thinks as the doubts rise again. Lying face down, mouth filled with the taste of iron, mud and animal excrement, he clearly remembers the last time he was here. Not saying anything, Carmeck tries again. His hands can barely support his body as he shoves himself upwards. A heavy boot smashes him down again while the booming voice of his trainer echos through the camp. Men all around stand to watch the spectacle. They knew how things work, through shame and anger the strength of rage builds in intensity. They all had to go through this.
"Little pig, you do not even think of standing!" Varl spits out in contempt
"Among the dirt that you so love to visit you'll have to spend the day, maggot! Eet, pig! For that is what you will have to do if you do for the rest of you misrable life. Wothless swine."
Turning around Varl then adds softer so ony Cormeck can hear "Next time would be the last, remember that"

Never would Cormeck forget that day...

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