It was a warm evening, the sun setting, the wind pleasant and free. And here I was, clashing blades with my own kin in a pool of sweat. To say I was exhausted would be a foolhardy statement. "Brother of mine, may we rest a bit?"

He chuckles lightly, poking my shirt with the tip of his blade. "Nay, brother. Not until you can land a blow on me." He moves his sword away, and gestures me to stand. In great displeasure I do, struggling with my sword arm.

"Then may we battle to the ends of time, brother?" He laughs to the statement. "If that's how long it may take!" He moves his long brunette hair out of his eyes, bringing his sword forward to guard his body.

I go to swing, doing my best to avoid his blade, but yet ever still his blade locks with mine like teeth, pushing me back away. Having his free arm behind his back during this makes it all the more insulting. "You have bested me in swordplay many a times today, brother. Must it never end?"

"Clay, it shall end when you best me. Now come forth with all your might!" Blast you, brother! You are the protector of this town, not I. Why do you deem this training so important? So painfully so?

"Fine!" I'm done with these games! I go in full force, grabbing his sword arm and pulling it out of his guard. With the opening, I aim to strike his shoulder with the butt of my blade. But yet he catches it with his free hand, and we begin to wrestle our strengths.

It was not long before I folded to his will, getting kicked in the stomach and knocked back to the disturbed grass below. "Curse you, Oliver..." He simply smiles, walking over to me. "That was your best attempt yet, I must admit. You have earned your rest for this night."

He reaches his hand down as I struggle to breathe, aiming to pull me up. I take his hand weakly, and he pulls me back up only to hug me, patting my back roughly and letting go. "One day you will be able to contest with me. It will come with time."

"Maybe so, but why does it matter? I am no fighter of peace like you, I am a linguistic, a bringer of stories and language. I have no use for folly swords and sticks." His expression wasn't too pleased.

"Even people with more wit than brawn need a shield at arms from time to time." He speaks of defending myself, yet he holds the most dangerous task in our quiet town on his shoulders. "Enough. Let us leave this hill."

He looks off at the sunset in the distance, bleeding out from behind the over brush of trees and mountains. "That and I will not be around forever, Clay." His words seemed cold, yet fearful. His face showed knowing as of something I did not. It was concerning, to say the least.

"What troubles you, brother?" He turns around, and we begin walking down the hill. "A sense. Nothing more." A sense? "A sense of what?"

"A sense of what is to come, brother." His words remained firm yet vague, and it was hard for me to understand. It was almost frustrating in the smog of his thoughts. "Very well." I say, plainly.

We have reached the fence that encompasses Den town, and we choose to climb over it instead of walking to the towns true entrance. We even walk through our neighbors pig mud to save time. Our cloth became a mess as we eventually reached the center of town, the oinkers oinking from where we treaded in their ground.

"This town never changes, does it not?" I ask Oliver with a sense of pride as I look around. "No, it does not." His voice seemed far less lively than my own. He was beginning to worry me. "Are you sure you're alright, brother?"

"I am. Let's just head home." My brother was never too social with the townspeople and preferred to stay to me and our family. I suppose his reasoning for heading home so quickly would be the same, or that he was tired from today. He was patrolling during the dawn.

He really is a hard worker, and his strength and vigilance shows through his actions. He may not seem to like the people of our little village, but he cares about them very deeply in his own way. I wish I was more like him, but I've never been one to follow by duty or honor.

I am more a man of passion. A man of words and joy. Father disapproves of my ways, but the church respects me on a dear level. "You are zoning out again, Clay. Please keep watch." It seems I had stepped into another mud puddle. Dreadful.

"My eyes were on other things. Let us go before I become a mud man." He laughs, and we continue back to our humble home on the edge of town. A small wooden hold with a garden taken into care by our mother. To see that garden thrive warms my heart whenever I see it.

"I wonder what mother has made." Oliver questions, a finger to his chin. "Hopefully more of that pork of hers. She salts it just right." He smiles, shaking his head and walking on ahead of me.

I can't help but feel something is wrong with him despite his current attitude. The more I think of his words on that hill top, the more concern grows within me. "A sense of what is to come." I repeat.