Whoops.
Faolán hunched his shoulders under the older soldier's glare and shot an apologetic look his way. He had somehow gotten wrapped up in an intense conversation about some girls the other boys had spotted outside a church earlier that morning, a few of them snickering about how 'pious' those girls really were. Some of the boys here were local and knew them personally, from the sounds of it. Something about how one of them sure spent a lot of time on her knees in the back pews, which sent the others into gales of laughter. Faolán didn't get the joke--wasn't that what you did in a church? Prayed?--and he'd been listening in to try and get it when their instructor interrupted them.
Flushing with embarrassment, feeling like he'd just been caught doing something naughty, he bent to pick up his wooden practice sword again.
THWACK!
Something struck him on the back of the knees, sweeping his legs out from under him, and he went down with a yelp and a thud to land sprawled out on his back. More laughter broke out and he looked up to see one of the older boys--Tamir, he was called--standing over him, thumping his practice sword in his open palm and beaming proudly over at the instructor. "That better, teach? Nice surprise attack, huh? Huh?"
Faolán hated that kid. He'd picked on him ever since they'd met, called him girly and other such names, and then got even more pissed when Faolán fought back. Staring up at him, at that cocky grin, he suddenly wanted to wipe it right off.
With a scowl, Faolán rolled into a sore crouch and grabbed his sword--"Left your guard down, stupid!"--and swung as hard as he could for Tamir's foot, feeling the blow all up his arms as it connected with a satisfying crack. Fortunately for Tamir, he was wearing boots, but from the way he hopped around and cursed he sure felt it!
Nervous laughter burst out among the nearby recruits, who knew a budding fight when they saw one and had stopped their practice to watch.
"You little goat-fucker!" Tamir snarled, and Faolán had only a split second to dodge when the larger boy lunged for him. "Get back here!"
Dropping his sword, knowing he was more than outmatched there, Faolán lunged to his feet and ran, because if there was one thing he was good at, it was sprinting from danger, and what had seemed like a good idea at the time--and what had provided him with so much instant gratification--was now filed away into the Bad Idea category.
It was likewise a Bad Idea that he was so focused on escaping that he hadn't been watching where he was going and crashed right into Fayt.