“Stick, you say?” Robin gave the branch a few practice swings, feeling its heft in his hands. It couldn’t have been riverborne for long, as its core was strong rather than rot. He could flourish it well enough to look like he knew what he was—

Little’s staff swung heavy and down to Robin’s left. He caught it, just barely, with the north pole of his branch, and instinctively he swung back with the south, too obviously, Little was there as well. They traded two more snaps at each other, but there wasn’t enough weight behind the blows to push Robin down. He’s toying with me. His hood was loose around his neck, and he tried to swing it around his back again. He’s toying with me and he’ll win that way.

“Seems perhaps we had the same teacher, my friend.”

“Same teacher, you say?”

Round the staff came again, on the opposite side, and Robin’s leg screamed as he pivoted. High and low he managed to block the next flurry of blows, until Little swept broad and flat. Robin avoided one end only to have the other crack his side. The scaled plates in his leather vest kept his ribs from breaking, but only barely. He rolled away with the force of the blow, stumbling down into the water. He had to push up to his elbows just to keep his head above its surface. Cold water flooded him, refreshing and brisk, but it would weigh him down.

Little passed his weapon from hand to hand, smiling, beside himself. “This is my game!”

“Alright, alright,” Robin admitted, a hand out, begging for time. Time is all you need, to give William a chance of escape. Robin didn’t need to win this fight, he could take a little beating in exchange for William’s safety. He spat mud from his mouth. Or you could kick this oaf’s ass—that would be a fine alternative.

Robin clambered to his feet again, wheezing for breath, wondering why his opponent didn’t need to do the same. Bigger lungs, he supposed.

“I think I’ve got a handle on you now.”

Little laughed. “Do you, now?”

Robin nodded and moved forward, spinning his branch elaborately behind his back, then suddenly jabbing out. The ogre flinched away and retuned a volley of lashes on both sides that Robin struggled to keep up with.

Pay attention, Robin, he’s telling you where he’s striking. The man’s eyes gave away his next target, and he pulled back too far each time, giving Robin the opportunity to block. Even still, the next one he stopped sent a painful shock through his forearms. The sheer power of each attack could break his wrists if he took it the wrong way. Then the butt of Little’s staff clipped forward unexpectedly and smashed into Robin’s sternum.