The sword came forward swiftly but before it could reach Rodrigo, he moved to the side, his hand closed around the handle of the sword in Dominic's hand and he twisted, and it came free.
The sound of Dominic's knuckle joints cracking carried across the whole field, as he stumbled to the side, his hand hanging by the side.
Rodrigo held the sword for a moment as he stared at his brother.
Then he threw it. It skidded flat across the sand and stopped, the whole field quiet, as everyone watched, wide eyed.
Rodrigo crossed to his brother and stopped just a breath away from him. His eyes darkened as he glared at him,
"You can't win a sword fight," he whispered, his voice low, a scoff leaving his lips, "and you think you can take a pack from me."
Dominic's shoulder trembled under his shirt, his eyes not giving an inch, chest rising and falling hard, blood still falling off his fingers in a slow drip onto the ground between them.
Rodrigo held his eyes.
Then he turned around.
