Burning Bright | Two Sides of a Coin
I never know what the Quicksand will suck into my orbit on any given night. Tonight, it was the apprentice of a former arena master that I only ever knew as Waldric, the Training Master at the Iron Arena spoke of the man often. He was a skilled unarmed fighter who only ever took one apprentice, this man, this Lewenhart Steele. Waldric was described as a man of determination, toughness, a reputation that preceded him both in and out of the ring. Meeting his apprentice, this man is … not that.
He couldn’t even so much as look me in the eye, so submissive and docile was he. He spoke of putting his fighting days behind him to become a goldsmith. Not that I take any issue with someone finding a profession better suited to them, but I don’t think his heart was in fighting to begin with. As he said, it was merely for survival. Courage does not live in the unwilling heart, or so the saying goes. Do I believe Lewenhart is a coward? No, but fighting, both in the arena and upon the battlefield, takes a certain level of courage that I’m not sure this man has. A cornered rat can fight for survival, a fox caught in a trap will fight for survival; when we’re sad and desperate and feel we have no other option, we’ll fight for survival. His heart doesn’t long for combat, doesn’t thrive in it.
But so much change in so short a time, between the death of his mentor, the receiving of that mentor’s estate, and this decision to become a goldsmith has paralyzed and overwhelmed him. The only advice I could give him was to take things one day at a time. To focus on one task, one thing: Making a farewell gift for old Waldric, something the man would be proud to have or to wear. A gift that Lewenhart could leave wherever his master was laid to rest. He seemed pleased with that thought.
During our conversation, he mentioned that I must have many followers because I seem so self-assured and strong in my purpose, that I seemed like a leader that people would follow. I told him that if I didn’t lead, then I’d end up going nowhere. My life has moved in the ways it has, because I willed it so. No one was going to do it for me. I had a family to provide for, a search for my sisters to fund, and a world I wanted to see. If I wasn’t going to lead myself to the things I wanted, then who would? He hung his head and wouldn’t hardly look at me, saying that I was awe-inspiring for my conviction. It made me wonder just how rare a trait these were: conviction of purpose, surety of self, confidence in ability, that a man should find them things to admire.
Oxomoco would likely call him a chucklehyuk.
