octōgintā octo

"What are you? Oh tell me, what you are."

He dragged his body which was leaning on his arm backwardly till he was sure that that he was outta the way of the harm.

He didn't know if he was supposed to say what he had said. He was only clueless. He had no idea what to do.

He was just trying to be sane and act as though all that was happening was merely natural and there was no big deal to it.

He knew that was some lie but was taming his eyes to look in contradiction to what he was seeing. Like sketch a look that hardly would tell the tale of the quaking of his heart and drooling of his soul.

The sword twirled and twirled for quite the while before it turned into a man with chin and jaws covered with beards.

He looked pretty young but his face had probably been scarred by the bruises he had obtained from being a sword.