Bran has a lot to sort out with his life.

"Raven, get your skinny little butt down here."

Sometimes, I really hate my mother. Don't get me wrong. She's a good mother. Serves on the PTA, drives me to soccer practice, or did drive me until the coach asked me not to come back…something about getting a red card in a game for kicking a boy in the crotch. Not that the little prick didn't deserve it. He called me a girl after all.

No, sorry, he said a played like a girl, which in my book is even worse.

"Mom, I've said this before, can't you call me Bran. I like it better."

"Short for Branwen?"

"No, short for Bran. It's a welsh name. It means raven, but it's less weird than being called…"

"Being called Raven? But your name is Raven."

"Only because you named me that. Dad wanted to call me Sarah."

"Sarah's such a plain name. Why don't you like Raven?"

"Seriously, Mom? I have to have a reason?"

"Fine, Bran, get your cute little butt down here."

Grr. I hated being cute more than I hated being called Raven. One of these days, I'd really show her. Staring at my face in the mirror I stuck out my tongue. Nope, more cute. If only…

Wishing never gets you anything.

It was one of my dad's favorite sayings. Well, half of it. More of a poem actually:
Wishing never gets you anything, they'd let you shirk the load. Dreams are just the start of the path and hard work paves the road.

Dad had a million of these, my favorite was: "To bed to bed," says Sleepy-Head. "Wait up," calls Slow. "Put on the pot," cries Greedy-Man, "Let's eat before we go."

Now, I don't know where he got them, but I would love to be able to ask. I can't. A drunk driver made that impossible for me.

Now, the real wish I had in my heart was not to be wearing this 'cute' skirt that mom insisted I wear today. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with the skirt. I just really hated it. I mean really hated it.

Let me put it another way: The skirt made me look like a girl. I wanted a pair of cargo pants, since at least they were sort of unisex. I mean, have you seen girl's jeans recently. It's like they want to give you a wedgie, or at least scream 'I'm female,' at the top of their denim filled lungs.

If I could fit my butt into a pair of guy's jeans, don't think I wouldn't. It would fit in with this carefully crafted guy persona I'm trying to…um…craft.

That was the stupidest sentence I think I've ever written. There are like these unwritten rules that say you're supposed to have variety and stuff…okay, maybe they're written down somewhere. I don't know. School and I don't get along real well. Thankfully most of them think I'm a girl, so I get through without some of the real torment that a lot of the boys get from the bullies.

Let me rephrase that: I just have to deal with the emotional bullying.

Some of it hurts, but when Cindy Cheerleader says, for the eighth time this week, "You dress like a boy," it's the best I can do not to preen a little bit, nod my head, and say, "yep, and your point is?"

I don't say anything because it's kind of nice to get compliments, even when people mean them as insults.

I still get to deal with all this crap, and the people who think I should be in home-ec instead of the metal shop. Let's take a step back for a moment here people. We're living in a new millennium. The '50s are more than fifty years ago. Come on!

Too bad the teacher won't let me craft a sword.

It would only be a mockup anyway. Real swords are forged, not die punched or cut out.

Yeah, but I'm not at school right now. Right now, I want to go to the Renaissance Faire. Mom has been trying to get me to go for a while now. She's really big into the whole dressing up thing. I think she was into theater in college or something.

Jeeze! Did she have to put me into this outfit? I look like a friggin bar maid.

Well, I would if I had any cleavage to talk about, for which I will be forever thankful.

Mom doesn't think so, but I think she has great genetics. She was in a sub A bra until her eighteenth birthday when she got, 'some work done' as she puts it.

She was straight as a rail and flat as a board until then. Sure, I'd love to bulk up a bit in the shoulders, but hell, I'll take what I can get.

She's got curves now, thanks to giving birth to me and her implants, but I'm just as glad that I don't. She keeps threatening me with getting work done. I just shudder when she's not looking.

At least when I'm eighteen and she could legally get me under a knife I will be consenting for myself, or not in this case.

I get an evil idea, so I grab my money and head downstairs.

"I'm ready to go, mom."

"No makeup?"

"Peasants didn't wear makeup, mom."

That's one of the things I hate about my face. It is on the girl side of androgynous right now. If I put any makeup on it…well, there's no androgynous, just girl side at that point.

Finally, we're out the door and driving the three hours to get to the faire grounds.

For some reason, mom doesn't let me drive any more. I've never gotten in an accident, but that doesn't matter to mom. It's the fact that I can squeeze our whale of an SUV into two feet of clearance either side while traveling at over ninety miles an hour.

Let's be honest here for a moment. It's not that I can do so, it's that I have done so…with mom in the car.

So, what would have been, at most, a two hour drive with me behind the wheel is a three hour drive with mom there. I stare out the window doing my best impression of a teenager.

I have a pixy cut hairstyle. I wanted to get a boy's haircut, but mom drew the line at a pixie cut. I go back to get my hair trimmed every week, and it is barely longer than a buzz. Mom can't really say anything about it, as I haven't yet buzzed it, and I haven't gotten it in a more masculine style.

"You know, most girls your age have their ears pierced."

"Mom…"

"I know honey, but could you at least consider it?"

"Mom…" I want to tell my mom who I really am. I've made hints at it in the past. I really try to tell her I'm not a girly girl. What I mean is I'm not a girl. Sure, it's obvious to everyone reading this stream of consciousness.

I don't talk much to my mom. We just don't seem to get along.

We got to the faire and the location just opened up before me. Except for the people walking around in street clothes, it felt almost like a renaissance village. Sure, I knew there would be inaccuracies, since it is a 'for profit' venture, but it was fun anyway.

As soon as my mom was focused on a show being put on, I slipped away to go look at the vendor booths. I was looking for something in particular, and I really hoped I could find it.

Mom required I wear a skirt. I was going to find some more appropriate clothing.

"You know, boys shouldn't wear dresses," said a voice behind me.

"Hence the reason I'm looking for a change of costume," I said as I turned around.

"Oh, sorry," the teen said, blushing.

"For what?" I asked.

"I thought you were a boy. I was wrong. Daniel," he said offering his hand.

"Bran," I say taking it. Just for the fun of it, I apply some pressure. Not a lot, but enough so he knows I have a good handshake. He smirks and applies more.

Oh…it's on. "I do a lot of work with my hands. There's a lot of bending and shaping in metal shop, and I use my dad's old weight set in the garage a lot. No, it's not easy like it would be for a boy of my age, but I've been able to add some muscle. I have a good grip.

Putting a smirk on my face, I slowly begin to build pressure on his hand. I can see the sweat breaking out on his forehead, but he doesn't want to let up. So, I kick in into overdrive and I can feel the bones in his hand begin to flex.

"Enough, enough. Alright already."

"You were right the first time." I say with a smile.

"Wow, you have some grip there, Bran."

"I know. The other guys in metal shop use me as a mobile hand clamp when they need that extra bid of stability."

Daniel colors a bit. I have to think about it for a moment and then it dawns on me what he's thinking. I punch him in the arm. "That's just sick, man,"
He stood there, rubbing his arm, "man, you can hit."

"Thanks, so, you look like you work here; think you can help me find a change of clothes, since 'boys don't wear dresses'?"

He nodded at me, and gesture for me to follow him. "Sorry about the earlier comment. I thought I'd have a little fun at someone's expense. I didn't mean anything by it."

"And think if it were someone like me, only with the opposite problem."

"Come again?"

"A kid born a boy, but knowing deep inside that she was female her entire life. They'd already have to be out here in the public eye. There you'd be, insulting her because of nature's little joke."

"I never really thought about it that way."

"That's because Mother was nice to you."

"I don't understand..."

"Your mind matches your package."

He snorted a bark of laughter which I join in on. As we walked, I began to hear the clash and clang of metal on metal and I began to get a little excited. This was one of the main reasons I'd wanted to come to the faire in the first place. We came around a tent, and there it was, my heart's desire.

There were a couple guys in leather armor swinging at each other with bastard swords...

Alright, so I'm going to use some technical terms here, and I hope you'll bear with me. Let me explain a little bit about the history of the European, or western, sword. It is important to the story, because I get into sword fights. For those who don't care and want to get back to the story, skip to the ---

A western sword is a club with an edge and a point. It is meant to smash at your opponent, originally in heavy metal armor, until he submits. Knives, especially the famous stiletto, were meant to subtly bypass the armor through one of the openings in the joint. A sword was a man's weapon.

They were usually an inch to an inch and a half wide.

There were primarily two types of swords: One handed and two handed. A one handed sword was designed for use with a shield in the other hand. You used it for attack only, as the shield was your defense.

The styles using these types of swords emphasized the striking capabilities of the sword and the striking and blocking capabilities of the shield.

Oh yes, Europeans fought dirty. Nut shots were considered a normal part of the field of battle, if you could get them.

Two handed swords were longer, heavier, and obviously over compensating for some lack of the wielder. They were used for attack and defense in both hands.

That doesn't mean that both hands always remained on the hilt. When you're wearing metal gauntlets you don't have to worry about cutting yourself. Sometimes, you would be smashing the heavy pommel into people's helmets.

A one handed sword has speed and accuracy on its side, as well as the ability to use a shield. A two handed sword has the strength of both arms behind it and is pure, unadulterated power.

Enter the bastard sword. It is so called because it is the bastard offspring of a one handed sword and a two handed sword. Also called a hand and a half sword, it is light enough to be used with one hand, but the hilt is big enough to allow the use of two hands.

In the renaissance, swords made a change, for the worse in my opinion, when men stopped wearing armor. They narrowed down into the half an inch saber, or the long knitting needle of the foil.

They reintroduced 'normal' width blades in the midst of this sword reform. That's what became known as a 'broad' sword. It was nothing more than the inch to an inch and a half like in the medieval period.

There are four types of shields I'll mention: Tower, Kite, target and Buckler.

A tower shield is a tall rectangular shield. It was first used by Romans in the phalanx, or their almost unbreakable formation. It's good for a nice infantry shield wall, but impractical on horseback.

The Kite shield is the biggest shield that is usable from horseback. It is the 'traditional' shield people think of when they think knights. It's also the shield used in coats-of-arms.

A target shield is a round shield. Often these are two and a half to three feet in diameter, although the Spartan shields were bigger.

A buckler is a small round shield strapped to the forearm, usually no larger than a foot in diameter.

---
These weren't actors doing some choreography. This was sweaty, muscle and steel, trying to kill each other intensity.

"Like what you see?" Daniel whispered from behind me.

"Actually, green over there seems to be swinging a little wide. He's putting too much force into his blows. If his opponent were in plate armor, it would make sense. Problem is, with him in leather, he doesn't even need half that force."

"Oh, really. Think you can do better?"

"Get me in a proper pair of trousers, and I'll do my best."

He laughed and led me over to a tent on the side.

"Gregor, this is Bran. He wants to be properly attired."

"Bran, huh. The raven. I like it." I blushed. I'd never had anyone compliment my guy name before and couldn't help it. Damn these female hormones. Give me testosterone any day.

"So, tired of dressing in Drag, huh Bran. I get that. Which team we putting him on?"

"Team?" I say, confused.

"He thinks he can do a better job than Sam, so let's go Woodsmen."

Gregor sized me up and tossed a stack of clothing in forest green at me. "The organizers have a problem with us getting naked in the street, so you can get dressed in the tent. Need any help getting out of your dress?"

"I'll manage," I said with a smirk, "I prefer women anyway."

It was Gregor's turn to blush.

I laughed as I walked to the tent. I shed the dress and dropped it in the corner. In the midst of the clothing I found a bandage. I sighed a 'thank you' and wrapped it around my chest. With that secured I put on the shirt, jerkin and leggings.

I didn't like how smooth I was below, so I rolled up my stockings, yes mom had insisted, and stuffed them down there. It was smaller than I'd have liked, but I could live with it.

I walked out to the waiting Daniel. His gaze got stuck on my crotch.

"See something you like?" I said, throwing his words back at him.

Gregor pounded him on the back and said, "Welcome to my side of the tracks. I knew you'd come around eventually." I just smiled at Gregor. I think I could come to like this guy.

Daniel led me to the practice arena.

"What's this about a team?"

"We're...a competitive organization of a sort."

"Organization?"

"EHA: Enhanced History Association."

"Enhanced...."

"We're a LARP group."

"Ok, now I'm really lost."

"Live Action Role Play. You know. Elves and magic in the forest."

"Wait...you mean like that 'lightning bolt' video?"

Daniel blushed a bit, "something like that...but not exactly. We actually believe in full contact play, which most groups are afraid of. We require people to be at least eighteen, or seventeen with a parent's permission."

"Kinda like the army, huh."

Daniel smirked at this, "Yeah, kinda like."

"Shouldn't be a problem, provided I can convince my mom. Girls participate in this as well?"

"Thought you were a boy."

"Not according to 'mommy dearest'," I say with a smirk.

He laughs at that and responds, "Yes, there are some girls."

"Good, eye candy."

"You have no idea," he says with a knowing glint in his eye.

We get to the arena and Daniel calls out, "Sam, we have fresh meat who thinks they can do better than you."

He looks over at me, sizes me up and down, and then sighs, "The shrimp is welcome to try. I need a break anyway."

Our local Y used to offer fencing classes. I took them until they started to feel a little tame to me. I tried kendo, but had the same problem. They were for show or 'competition'. There was none of the visceral feel I wanted.

So, I took to watching a lot of training videos, and practicing in my off time in the garage, when I wasn't just working out.

"Take it easy on the new guy," I said as I walked over to take the sword from Sam. The first thing I noticed was it was a lot lighter than I'd expected. I was used to practicing with a metal bar about three feet in length. This was a little longer, but not even in the same realm of weight.

The balance was different as well. It seemed to be turning closer to the hilt than the middle. I took a couple of practice swings, and watched my opponent surreptitiously.

He was looking at my butt. What is it with these guys?

I turned my latest test swing into a slash at his head. It wasn't a wild slash by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a bit wide, intentionally.

He brought his sword up quickly, a bit too quickly. I brought my off hand to the hilt and used it to pull the swing down. At the last second I flipped the sword sideways and the flat of the blade slammed into his ribs.

"Oh, by the way, are these swords sharpened?"

My opponent was cradling his ribs a bit. I might have hit him a little hard.

"Get her some armor," my opponent called out to the sidelines.

"I'm a boy, you twit."

"Sure you are, and I'm..."

I didn't allow him to finish the statement. I swung at him again. He brought his sword up a little slower and allowed my blade to crash into his. He had a one handed grip on it, so I locked guards with him. He smiled at me as he slowly began to push my blade away. I shifted my hips and punched him.

"That's not fair," Sam yelled from the sidelines.

My opponent rubbed his jaw, "Not bad," he said.

"For a girl," I sneered.

"For anyone. You right handed?"

I nodded.

"Then I don't want to be hit by that one."

"Get this guy some armor," he called out again. "Aragorn," he said saluting me with his sword.

"Bran," I said, doing the same.

They got some armor for me, and put it on. While they were outfitting me, 'Aragorn' talked.

"First, a few rules: No attacking the head or neck. No attacking the groin. All other areas are allowable. The blades are blunted, but at the speed you're swinging I'd appreciate the flat to the edge, if you can keep pulling it."

I blushed a bit, and he continued, "Punches in allowable areas are acceptable, although I think you're the first person I know of who actually mixed sword and fist."

"Actually..."

"I meant in our group, sorry. Go again?"

I smiled and attacked. This wasn't a showy clashing of blades. I like to think I was brutal, but Aragorn was nothing if he didn't do the same. The armor was padded, a little, but that didn't stop me from feeling the few glancing blows that he got through.

My blows that hit weren't glancing.

Yes, there were problems with my style. That happens when you're teaching yourself. The thing is I think I had a better killer instinct than Aragorn did. This was a game for him. It was deadly serious to me.

Swords were meant to kill people. That was their intent. This was just practice for that.

Halfway through our sparring session, I was outfitted with a pair of tight leather gloves. No, not to protect Aragorn. I'd split a couple of my knuckles by that point, so they were to protect me.

"Ok, I've had enough. Sam, you want back in with your team-mate here?"

"Oh no, that guy's insane," Sam said with a smile and Daniel laughed.

"So, what's up with this team's thing?"

"Well, we're taking part in the joust later today. A four way skirmish with the SCA pukes. They claimed that none of us really know how to fight."

"A four way skirmish...how does that prove..."

"Well, the skirmish is usually a 4 team affair. They gave us two of them this time."

"Ok...how do we determine we're taken out?"

"Painted edges."

"You said..."

"Only when sparring with me, Bran," Aragorn said with a guffaw of laughter.

"What's your real name?"

"I'll tell you as soon as you tell me yours."

"Fine," I looked around a bit and then said, "Raven."

"You're kidding me."

I walked over to where I'd left my pile of clothing and retrieved my license. I showed it to him.

"Well, a deal's I deal, I guess. My name's Franklin."

"Not Frank?"

He shuddered. "God no."

I laughed.

"You're kind of cute in this picture."

Mom had insisted I get my makeup and hair done professionally before I got my license. I hated the picture. I snatched it out of his hand.

"You're not my type."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you're not a redhead with a great rack."

The audience snorted and snickered.

"Well, you're not my type either. I like girls."

I couldn't help it. I smiled. This guy was really kinda cool.

"Although, if you looked like this picture..."

And then again...I punched him.

"No one will ever accuse you of hitting like a girl."

We all laughed for a minute or two.

"Seriously, though, we need your mom to sign your waiver, since you can't."

"You want me..."

"To take part in the Grande Melee, yes."

I picked up my dress and purse...yuck...

"Here," Daniel said as we began to walk. It was a small pouch. "Tie it to your belt."

I did, and realized it was just big enough to hold the essentials from my purse: a tampon, my money, and my ID.

The other guys looked at me weird when I put the tampon in there.

"Want to make something of it?" I said with a scowl.

They all shook their heads and I smiled, "Good answer."

It was kind of cool walking around with the EHA group. We bowed to the people as we walked past. Aragorn was wearing his sword. Sam was wearing the one I'd borrowed from him. Even Daniel was wearing a sword.

Oh well. Maybe after I got my mom to sign the waiver.

There were some cheers as we went past from some of the vendors. Aragorn waved at them.

"Are the SCA folks the bad guys in this?"

"In a manner of speaking," Daniel replied, "They're the aggressor. We're protecting the interests of the common folk."

"Speak for yourself, King's man," Sam said.

For the first time I noticed that Daniel was in the same reddish brown as Aragorn. "So, we're woodmen, I think I heard Gregor say."

Sam scowled, "If the silly faire would let me wear my ears..."

"It wasn't the faire, Sam. You know it was the SCA. They felt it detracted from the melee."

"We're elves," Sam said.

"Elves..."

"We're the People of the Greenwood; sworn enemies of humanity. The King's men have been encroaching on our lands for generations and we're fighting back."

"This is that role-play thing?"

"Doesn't he know anything?"

"He knows how to fight, and he looks more elfin that you do," Daniel said with a grin.

I laughed and Sam just scowled.

"Ok, EHA has three primary races in it. There are Elves, Faeries and Humans."

"Fairies? Like little figures with wings?"

Daniel laughed, "No, the people of Fae. F, A, E."

"Ok, so more Oberon and less butterflies."

"I like this gi...I mean guy. I like this guy."

"I thought that Fae encompassed the elves..."

That little comment started a long argument between Daniel and Sam about that very subject. The gist of it was the Elves in the EHA world were natural beings, and the Fae were beings of magic. It took them a half hour to get to that point. The entire time we continued to look for my Mom.

"Raven?"

"Hi mom," I said turning around. I handed her my dress. "Could you take that to the car?"

Her mouth was open as she took me in.

"Bran wants for you to sign a waiver so he can participate in the Grande Melee."

"Bran..?"

"Mom, will you sign my waiver for me?"

"I think we need to have a talk first young...man."

She took me to the side and looked me up and down. "So, you're a boy, are you?"

"It's not just a costume, mom. I've tried to tell you so many times. I really don't think I'm a girl. I've tried to be, but I like to get my hands dirty. I like to build and destroy. I like to be loud, and brash, and forceful."

"Women can be..."

"I don't feel like a woman, mom. I hate my breasts."

"Honey..."

"I'm not a girl, okay."

"You don't have to wear makeup if you don't want to."

"This isn't about makeup, mom. This is about who the world sees me as."

"But, can't you..."

"You know the real reason I wanted to come here? I thought they might have a blacksmith for some reason. That is more than an actor would do. I want to learn to forge my own swords."

"You want...to be a blacksmith?"

"Yes, mom. I want to be a blacksmith, and not in a Knight's Tale female blacksmith sort of way."

"Is there money in that?"

"I don't know, but there would have to be. Have you seen the prices that authentic weapons and armor go for online?"

"No..."

"A lot. I've seen full, custom made suits of armor for more than three thousand."

"But I'm sure..."

"These were mass produced reproductions."

"We'll talk about you becoming a professional blacksmith later. A boy, huh."

I just nodded.

"That explains the red card." she said. I looked away. She'd heard what the kid said to me, and was really upset about my 'over reaction' as she saw it.

We walked back over to the guys.

"What is this Grande Melee?"

"It's pounding on each other with swords," I said blithely.

"In its most basic for, yes, that is what it is," Aragorn said.

My mom really looked at Aragorn for the first time. Something in her eye made me was to re-examine him. He wasn't too old, maybe mid thirties. I knew from personal experience he was strong. But, mom wasn't seeing him how I did.

Sure, he was handsome, I guess, but was that any reason for mom to look at him like he was a drop of water in the desert and she was dying of thirst?

"This isn't safe no matter what we say. There are rules, and a few precautions, but there are injuries every year, which is the reason you have to be at least seventeen and sign a waiver. You'd have to sign for Bran if he is going to participate."

Mom nodded at what he said and then tore her eyes away to look at me, "You sure you want to do this, sweetie."

"Hell, yes." I said with a feral grin.

"Honey, language."

"Sorry, mom."

"Fine, if you think she...he is good enough to be in this..."

"Your son is better at this than I am," Aragorn said.

"No, I'm just..."

"Bran, stow the false modesty. You kicked my but soundly, and if we'd been using real blades I'd be dead. You might be injured, but I wouldn't be breathing."

I blushed and mom looked at me with an appraising look.

"Well, if my son's that good then I want to see him in action," there was a double meaning to her words that I couldn't fail to miss. She wanted to see what having me as a son would be like. It felt like the bottom fell out of my stomach for a moment. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.

"Ok, mom," and then I began to grin.

We walked back to the tent and mom signed the necessary paper work, which Gregor notarized. They really wanted to do everything right. I noticed that there was a place on the form for my real name as well as my game name. Well, it wasn't a legal document, but I'd just changed my name for real with these guys.

They outfitted me with a sword belt, sword and sheath.

"You want a shield?"

"He can't punch someone if he has a shield."

"I could go for a buckler."

"I'll keep that in mind, for right now we don't have any, and I don't have the materials to make one."

By this point it was getting closer to the time when they'd have the Grande Melee, so mom headed toward the stands, and I went with the others to the staging area.

"Who's this," a grey haired man said. He was skinnier than I was, taller too. His ears were slightly pointed.

"My Lord Adrondel, this is Bran. He has come to join us in our fight this day."

"Well met, Bran. Can you use that sword at your hip?"

"So it has been said," I say, trying to get into the character of the speech.

"But what say you?"

"Let me be proved in battle."

"You vouch for him, Eolmir?" Adrondel asked Sam.

"I do, Lord."

"Then let him prepare himself."

I looked around and noticed there were a couple of girl with us in the ranks. They wore short skirts over their leggings. I'd wondered why the Lord had treated me as a man, now I knew. His ears weren't prosthetics. He took this 'way' too seriously in my opinion. And he treated me as my costume required.

We exchanged our blunted swords for swords with a foam rubber edge. I pressed the edge and green paint seemed to well out of the seeming cut on my finger. I wiped it off on a rag and went and got ready for the charge.

This would be fun, I thought as I waited for the horn to sound.

When it did, chaos ensued. Red and green had been facing each other. Blue and yellow were at our right and left.

We clashed in the middle and swords started flying. We'd planned on holding formation and working as a team. I did my best to wait for people to make their way to me. I was stuck in the middle of the line with Sam...Eolmir I mean and Adrondel.

Eventually, as our line lost people and it began to curl around the back, I begin to face off against people. None of them were in red. I'm not saying that none of the King's men attacked the People of the greenwood. No, they were avoiding me, actively. Apparently Aragorn had let people know that I was a force to be reckoned with. One of the King's men saw he was about to face me and backed up...right into one of the yellow's sword. I began to grin at the thought.

Then, the last man to my right was gone. I turned my back to Lord Adrondel and faced a seeming sea of yellow.

There isn't any point trying to relate the exact things I did, the moves I made, the counters I almost missed.

One by one I whittled down my opponents. At some point Eolmir and Adrondel joined me.

Most of our opponents were pitiful, especially since they were trying to overwhelm us with numbers.

We ended up back to back again, but there were fewer for me to deal with at that point. There were only three in front of me when I took a blow hard enough to leave paint on my armor.

"Shit," I said and fell out of formation.

Eolmir and Adrondel had taken out their portions, and quickly dispatched the three I'd been facing.

A cheer went up from the stands.

"People of the Greenwood have taken the field." Called out an announcer I'd been unable to hear from the staging area.

"Come, victors, and accept your spoils."

We walked forward, and I got a number of slaps on the back.

"You fight like hell itself."

"Next time I'm facing you, I'm running the other way," another said holding his ribs.

There were more comments made, some of them unflattering, but overall they made me feel accepted, and they didn't once treat me like a girl.