The young warrior twirled the spear expertly and finished in form, prepared to use the weapon. The man across from him chuckled, holding a similar spear aloft, “Very showy! But it does not impress me, show me what you’ve learned, that you’re ready to become a man!”

“I am father,” replied the youth, his tone and expression stone cold. The elder man assumed a fighting stance. The men were stripped down to only their pants and boots, their shirts had been discarded for this trial.

The Trials of the Wolf were harsh yet only three in number. The young warrior had completed two of the three and was in the process of the third, besting his own father in combat. It proved you were ready to become a man and take on the responsibilities of one of the Tribe. It also showed your dedication to the Tribe, being able to push everything aside, even family, for the Tribe’s greater good.

Unfortunately for the young man, his father was also the Tribe’s leader; which meant he was the most skilled of all the warriors.

They both stood there for a moment, then the elder man’s spear snapped out and the duel began. Back and forth it went, the young man and the elder man, spears lashed out to deliver and blocked what would be killing blows. Both the men fought with the spirit of the wolf; never backing down. Soon the two men dripped with sweat. Panting heavily, each blow struck made a clacking sound, almost harmonious, and each step was perfect and in time with the dance-like battle.

It wasn’t just physically tormenting, but mentally as well. The young warrior wanted to refuse to strike at his own father, the man who had raised him, but he had no choice in the matter, the path to manhood was not paved in gold and silver.

Finally after what seemed to the men as hours of combat, the young warrior’s foot slipped as he pivoted and his father took advantage of the moment. A single fluid motion and he had disarmed his son. The battle did not end though; as his spear was ripped from his grasp the young man changed stances. The elder man’s spear continued to lash out and he danced around and away from its sharpened steel. Then he saw an opening and assaulted it; his body moved fluidly with the skills he had been taught since childhood. The god’s must have smiled upon him as he tore the spear from his father’s grasp and flung it aside.

“Good! Now let’s finish this test!” panted the elder warrior. The men went back at it, using their bodies as weapons now, almost as deadly as the spears they had just wielded. The motions flickered through the young man’s head a quarter of a second before he lunged into action. Not really time to think, only time to act on his instincts; block, punch, kick.

Then within a second it was over. One stood over the other, his lips tight.

“Are you okay son?” asked the elder man, proffering a hand up.

“Yes...damnit! I still can’t beat you!” scowled the young warrior.

“Don’t worry yourself my son, you may try your hand at the trials again in thirty sun rises,” replied the elder man. Grasping his father’s forearm the young warrior pulled himself up, and turned away, collected his things and walked off. He was angry at his own lack of skill. He would go somewhere quiet and meditate on everything. Maybe Mira would join him…