Getting ready for it

It was in the evening when the snow started its decent. At this cold hour a boy was moving though the old stone street. The buildings of this little village were made out of dark wood, and their windows were the only thing illuminating the streets at this hour.

In the far was a big forest surrounding the foot of the hill and even taller mountains in the rear were giving the sun a last glimpse of light before it hid under it.

Now the village was a true spectacle of light and darkness, so the boy even rushed faster to the end of the road where his home was.

The lights were on, he could see a façade of a person though the window standing in the kitchen.

The boy simply went ahead and walked to enter his so beloved home.

But he didn't enter, he was just standing in front of the door. From his sad looks you could tell that something seemed to be depressing him.

Trapped in his own thoughts the boy didn't realize the footsteps coming closer.

The old man inside opened the door.

"What are you doing Oliver?"

He asked with a confused face. He had an old rough voice. It was just unique the way he toned his words.

The boy looked up to him.

"Nothing" He answered to him.

The old man was really tall, had pitch black skin with a little grey tone mixed into it.

His ears had sharp tips at the end, and dark blue eyes.

The old man's long white hair was bound together with a simple leather bond.

The boy entered his home, giving the old man a filled brown paper bag.

"Olga didn't have any cattle meat"

"So? What did you buy?"

"Just look into it"

Oliver said as he passed by. He put his cloth off and went to his room.

In there he grabbed a new set of socks since his old ones were socked wet.

As he grabbed them, he glimpsed into the mirror on the wall next to him.

He looked and just kept looking.

His white hair. His brown skin color dividing him from his grandfather.

His wide shoulders and bony cheeks.

Big hands like his grandfathers and simple light blue eyes.

"I have grown" He said with a depressing face, talking to his mirror self.

He snapped out after that sentence and put his new clothes on.

"Oliver!"

A loud call.

Oliver got himself going: "What is it Doran?"

"Dinner will be ready soon. So, let's go train a bit"

The boy sighted.

"Doran I am seventeen and I will be leaving tomorrow, can't we just skip this one?"

His grandfather Doran sighted in disappointment:

"Since this is you last day with me, you have to train. You need to wield the blade once"

"Why? Why do I Doran?" Oliver continued with his voice getting louder: "So, nothing happens to me, like it happened to my parents. Is it that the reason?!"

"Yes!" Doran shouted: "What is your problem, Oliver? Don't you see were this is getting you? Look at your body!"

Oliver answered with an intimidated voice: "You are the reason why I never had any friends"

"It doesn't matter" The old man brushed it oof: "There are no buts, we go now"

Doran walked up to Oliver: "And don't ever mention you mother like that!"

They both headed down to the basement.

The basement was a big room, with only a few light bulbs filling it with light.

In the end of the room was a big chest filled with wooden swords.

Some were broken and some were not.

The both of them walked up to it barefooted.

Even when the floor was cold or to rough, they didn't care.

With their swords in hand, they got themselves into position.

A fierce look into the eyes, could be the tension between them from earlier.

But with all of that they stood still observing one another.

Doran was the first one to start a move.

He came one step forward with swift steps and the sword swinging towards his opponent's head.

Oliver dodged it with his footwork and closed the distance within an instant.

From then on, he tried to kick him back with his front foot, but Doran knew all along.

Doran not giving two simple fucks towards his age, stepped back and spined his whole body while he crouched down aiming for his grandson's legs.

Oliver jumped above the strike and flew towards his face with a kick. Doran blocked the attack with his right arm, only to brush it off of to his shoulder. The strike didn't hurt but pushed him back.

Oliver used the momentum to his advantage and went ahead with a blind strike with his sword. His grandfather could dodge just in the nick of time, by rolling to the side.

He closed the distance and punched him with that little range that he had.

Oliver could tell how serious his grandfather was about this fight. The punch went deep, sending him waves of pain. He lost grip of his sword and startled a few steps back.

"You done?" Oliver asked with a smirk on his face: "My wi-

Oliver jumped him not giving up. Barehanded he started his attacks and landed them too.

Doran's smirk grew wider and wider with every strike he took in.

The grandfather pushed him off, carefully positioning his distance.

This was bad, Oliver tried to be as close as possible to him, but that can't be anymore.

Doran rushed in with his wooden sword ready to strike.

USE YOU LEEEEEGS

That's right, Oliver dodged the third attack, kicking Doran in the stomach with his counter form the left.

But he didn't stop there.

His eyes got fiercer with every little move he did.

Oliver twisted his body accelerating his speed, closing the distance.

But Doran was ready, knowing he would kick him again, he started to block with his sword.

Oliver didn't care.

He kicked the swords blade, shattering it into countless pieces.

Doran dropped down after that kick.

"It's my loss" keeping his unique rough voice.

Oliver didn't say anything.

"But where is your swordsmanship?!" Doran's voice grown darker: "You might be strong, but what about what I thought you! Your mother was one of our greatest warriors in your age"

"Don't you compere me to my mother!" Oliver answered with a cold but loud voice: "Just be quiet"

As he said that he left his old beaten grandfather in the room alone.

He just stayed there a while sitting on the dusty, cold floor.

Doran smiled to himself with a sad face: "Just like my daughter"

A tear rolled down his face: "Even when you are so different from us"

He chucked with a broken face: "She would be proud of you"

Doran paused there for a while, keeping the environment quiet: "But I can't, I can't let the same happen again"

The man got up; his neck still hurt from that last strike.

He started picking up the broken shards of wood.

"He never destroyed a sword like this" He observed the broken blade.

Oliver was already putting the dishes on the table. It seemed that he got hungry from that spar.

"You can start without me" Doran said with his normal voice, no sing of sadness or the other emotions he has shoved before: "I am going to wash up"

Oliver just nodded and began.

"Ah yeah, you are going early to bed today"

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to miss your ride, and you probably don't want that either.

Have you even packed your things?"

Oliver nodded again and kept eating.

Doran wanted to talk more with his grandson, but he could read the mood and so he left.

The next day Oliver was the first one to get up.

He grabbed his bags, said his goodbyes and left.

It was a bit sad, how he just left with a simple goodbye, but Doran couldn't judge him for that. So, he just accepted it and let it be as it was.

Oliver was walking, trying his best of holding his grip in the thick snow.

It was a bright, cold day.

But that didn't matter.

These were some big changes and Oliver seemed ready.