Ro’s fist flew straight towards my face. I ducked behind an old tree. My fingers dug into the coarse bark as the sound of his fist pounding into wood brought a smirk to my face.
He swore like a drunk sailor and unrestrained laughter spilled from my lips.
From the snap that echoed around us, I knew that at least one bone was broken. I didn’t feel too bad about it though—he’d have a fully functional hand by nightfall. Ro was an extraordinarily fast healer. It made sparring with him dangerous since he was always willing to go to risky extremes.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t shake off the injuries quite as quickly. It was frustrating, but at least it kept our bouts interesting and unpredictable.
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