Let The True

“The hind looked like it was killed in one sure stroke.” Rami knelt beside Rastaban as he skinned his prize.

“She was,” Rastaban said.

“And yet you are injured.”

Rastaban continued skinning.

“Don’t think I don’t see what my jealous wife’s whelp has been up to.” Rami reached out to ruffle Rastaban’s hair, then paused and placed a hand on his shoulder, like he did with the other soldiers.

Fierce pride burned in Rastaban’s chest; Rami considered him a man now.

“He means to kill me,” Rastaban said.

Rami rose to his feet. “Then let the true warrior prevail, son.”