He stood as an aged, knotted tree, bent by years of fighting against the elements, but toughened by it all the same. The wind swirled round him, seducing the prairie grass into a gentle waltz with that breath of the gods, and with it, he too, swayed. The sky was burnished with a brilliant palette of warmth, the sun blessing the day one last time before night descended, and he against it, was decrepit and brown, old and ugly. Something about the old man spoke to Will though, as if, even in his age, he would stand there forever, denying that bitter wind of time the pleasure of knocking him down, defying that spectacle of the sun for he knew the true beauty of himself and modesty was enough. He appeared at peace with himself, content with his lot in life, though all he appeared to own was the staff that held his old bones up and the clothes that draped his worn frame. He lived in harmony with the world and that was something Will envied. In this form, the challenge presented itself.

" I see you carry a sword there, son. "

Wooed by strength of that voice, the quiet confidence it held, Will glanced towards his hand. It was true, he carried the wooden practice sword from the Arena. Was he still there?

" Not much fer words, eh? Well tell me, son, would ya mind givin' an old man one last joy? Ya see, back in the day, I used ta be a fighter meself..."

He was stunned by what he was hearing. Did this old man really expect to fight at his age? Hell, the wind damned near blew him over, and now he expected to spar with a specimen such as Will? The younger man wasn't conceited, but he knew he outmatched this old man physically, and apparently mentally. Instinctively, he responded.

"Do you really think that is such a wise idea?"

A hearty chuckle escaped that decrepit tree of a man, before he replied.

"A gold crown says I'll knock ya down first, son! I betcha won't even touch me, hehehe."

That voice was mocking. The old man was goading Will into anger. He was sucessful.

"Fine! Have at it, old man!"

Where he had admired this bastion against time but a moment ago, Will now thought him insane. He would resolve to dispatch that insanity with a few knocks to the head. He spread his feet apart in his normal stance, leading his right foot about two hands length in front of his left. He raised his practice sword in a high guard, his right hand choked high where his left held the bottom. He was ready for combat.

"On guard!"

The staff wielding geriatric descended upon Will like a raging tempest. With speed unforeseen by the young fighter, the elder rained upon him a flurry of blows. The first among them was a speedy arch towards his left shoulder. Will expertly responded stepping back on his right foot and leaning to the door corresponding direction. The staff bounced off the wooden sword, but before the swordsman had time to answer with an attack of his own, the staff was speeding for his right side. Will was barely able to deflect the strike with a defensive swing to the staff. The hastened defense left the old man with the inside. As a result, the old man used the redirected momentum of his staff to trip Will, bring the tip of it to the swordsman's ankles. He tumbled to the ground.

"Hehehe! I guess you'll be owin' me that gold crown now, eh son?"

The old man's voice was a gleeful cackle that truly showcased his age. All that joy only managed to anger Will, however. With a fury burning in his heart, he lunged to his feet and swung at that brainsick ancient with all the force he could muster. Daft as he seemed, however, the elder could still fight. As calm and precise as clockwork, he ducked beneath the ferocious hack and once again brought the tip of his staff to Will's ankle. The thud that ensued resembled the first.

" Heheheh! That one's fer not givin' me my gold crown. "

The senior wheezed with joy at what he'd done and what he was going to do. As quick as lightning, the butt of the staff anded upon Will's forehead.

"And that one's fer bein' a hothead!"

Oh, the happiness he recieved from torturing the young one, he truly was mad! Lost in a daze inflicted by elder's whallop, he could do naught but moan.

"Now listen to me, son. You fight with anger, you might as well be fightin' yerself. If ya live with sorrow, ya might as well be condemnin' yerself to be sad. Now next time, ya think yer about to be doin some fightin, think up a flame in yer head and feed that flame with all your anger and all your emotions and just focus that flame, cuz trust me son, ya sure as hell can't like in the future when yer to busy livin in the past."

Left with that last bit of imparted wisdom, the dream ended. The collision with reality that ensued was none too pleasant. He awoke as if a warhammer had caught him in the ribs, his head ached like a million herald's trumpets were blaring in in his ears, and his ankles were swollen to where it seemed he might be with child. His mind too, had been awakened, and like a rush of air leaving the lungs after a plunge in an icy lake, the realization of what he had to do next struck him.