Separation

"Young prince..." Ziterog began, but the young prince had no intention of listening to him, let alone being coaxed. He looked down at his injured arm.

"Does it hurt very much, my love?" his uncle asked, concerned about the wound, but especially about his nephew's expression, which had become numb. He knew from experience that it portended the worst. And he wasn't wrong.

"It's not this wound that hurts me..."

***

Jiide reflexively stepped back, alerted by Myrhes' voice, and unsure of what to do next to stop him. His nephew, not caring about his uncle's concern, calmly approached the culprits and smiled.

"Very funny. You must be very proud of yourselves, huh?"

Their leader, a blond-haired, brown-eyed boy, mischievous and obviously tougher and bolder than the others, stepped forward to show his rank, and faced his so-called future companion.

"Who knows? However, as Master Trogef said, it was just a little joke."