[h3]Jordan Forthey[/h3] Much to his surprise, the stranger did not even try to withdraw his exposed legs, and Jordan's chopping blow landed true, carving through flesh and dragging severed strands of cloth into the wound until the blade met something that was almost, but not entirely unyielding. Living bone was ever so slightly soft, and rather flexible, quite unlike old, brittle ones that had been exposed to the elements for a while. Sir Yanin had once pointed out that you could bend the bones in your lower arm between the fingers of your opposite hand... (Somewhat perturbingly, it seemed to an accurate statement; he had tried.) Cut to the bone ... but not much deeper; the circumstances were not optimal. Nevertheless, it felt like it should be a tide-turning blow, [i]had to be[/i]. He didn't think he could keep fighting this one for too long. Another thing that his master was stressed, however, that fights to death were a lot more desperate than practice or even honorable duels. You did not stop until your opponent was not moving because your opponent had [i]everything[/i] to lose. And people who were high on rushing blood did not react to injury as they would at rest; there were tales of knights being run through with swords, and not even noticing it until much later. Wardens - or whatever this guy was - could probably just decide to just not even feel pain or bleed or something. The stranger[i] hissed[/i] like an angry cat and launched his torso at him. Jordan jerked himself back. That was most people's first instinct - something threw itself at you, you attempted to pull away. Not quickly enough, and not far enough, however - the stranger's hands closed around his blade and right wrist. To be fair to Jordan, it was quite difficult to retreat quickly when you were effectively lying on your back. The stranger twisted his wrist, and Jordan let out a surprised yelp, reflexively releasing his right hand ... he could almost swear he heard his wrist [i]crack[/i] ... but not his left. He had to keep a hold of his sword, somehow, or the stranger would have it, or he'd be practically unarmed, or... His left hand's hold on his sword was what was sometimes called a death grip. What... [i]Fingers.[/i] Fingers were important to fighter, and this one had just placed half of his on his blade. In his yielding to the stranger's grasp on his hand, he had raised his torso from the ground, but also drawn his legs closer to himself. So now he put most of his upper body strength and weight into abruptly twisting his left shoulder and arm back and pulling with his left hand; with any luck, it would slice through the stranger's glove and some finger tendons, too, if not amputating some of his digits entirely. (The leg he had cut earlier had tendons, too, right? So the stranger wouldn't be able to walk as easily?) At the same time, he reangled his right, drawn-back leg, and aimed a strong kick at the stranger's abdomen or torso in an attempt to further remove the guy from himself and his blade. He was too focused on the fight to pay much attention to what was going on in the world around him; even the pain in his own body was, for now, only a distant concept. [h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3] Sixty-four yards to go. His squire had evidently managed to embed his sword in his opponent's leg, though that one proceeded to immediately retaliate. [i]You dropped your weapon,[/i] Sir Yanin mentally noted at the "trouble". [i]And you're trying to grab a blade that was sharp enough to cut hair with the last time I checked, and is still held by someone who is quite desperate on not letting you have it. [/i]You could half-sword without any significant fear of damage to yourself, and even grab opponents' blades almost safely at times ... but you had to be careful with the latter, and press your fingers to the flat of the blade while leaving a bit of a gap between the edge and the inside of your fingers. The "trouble" did not seem to be paying enough attention to do so so, never mind that leather gloves had, in general, poorer grip on (not impossibly slightly oily) smooth metal than bare skin. This close part of the fight was quick and dangerous, though the boy at least seemed to do okay in keeping the "trouble" away from his neck and face. Fifty yards to go.