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sword fighting is our favorite thing to do in the armory when no one is looking. though I lost my thumb once when a man attacked me And tried to kill me and another soul, one of my cousins to be exact, he killed the evil man. He had always been my favourite cousin. I could not fight for months due to my hands great pain. My cousins were kind to me and helped me learn to hold my sword with out my thom. I began to hold it with two hand instead of one. Finely when I began to fight well again, my cousins wanted me to sword fight my younger brother, and as a result my hand was given great pain when he knocked my sword out of my hand, more then it would have been if I had the thumb. The armory is not where we do our sword fighting, we only fool a round when non are looking.I still love sword fighting. I always wear full
medivial armour, because I am from the medieval age. We use wood swords that look like real ones. I never thought I would go though a even greater pain then just losing my thumb. Which would make me give up living with my favourite cousin, and even sword fighting my cousins. I felt I had to be near my brother always for he became ill, with the same illness my father died of. It was not contagious it just ran in my family's blood. He should have warned some one, that he was feeling ill, But my father did the same and not until it was to late I found out. But alas I found out just in time with my brother!
Once I discovered my brother's illness, I decided to dedicate my time and energy to taking care of him. I put my sword fighting aspirations on hold and focused solely on ensuring his well-being. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months as I tirelessly nursed him back to health.
During this time, my cousin, who was always a fierce supporter of my sword fighting skills, would visit whenever possible and regale me with tales of the armory and our secret sword fighting sessions. As much as I longed to pick up a sword again, I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my brother alone for even a moment.
As the years went by, my brother's health improved, but he required constant monitoring and care. I became his shadow, always by his side, ready to tend to his needs. Though I missed the thrill of combat, seeing my brother slowly recover brought me a different kind of fulfillment.
One fateful day, while attending to my brother's needs, I overheard a group of knights discussing an upcoming sword fighting tournament. The passion for sword fighting bubbled up within me, and I couldn't resist the allure of the competition. I knew I had to participate, not only for myself but also to show my brother that even in the face of adversity, one could still pursue their dreams.
I approached my cousin, who by this time had become a master swordsman, and shared my desire to join the tournament. He saw the determination in my eyes and agreed to train me rigorously, knowing that my circumstances had made me a different fighter. My missing thumb had forced me to adapt to a two-handed grip, and though it was unconventional, it granted me a unique advantage.
Months of intense training followed. My cousin pushed me to my limits, teaching me new techniques and strategies. Despite the pain that resonated through my hand with every sword swing, I persevered. The prospect of the tournament fueled my determination, and I knew I couldn't let my brother down.
Finally, the day of the tournament arrived. Clad in my full medieval armor, I stepped into the arena, nerves and excitement coursing through my veins. The crowd buzzed with anticipation as the first opponent approached. With each swing of my sword, I released all the pent-up frustration, pain, and longing. I fought with both the strength of my body and the love in my heart for my brother.
Round after round, I bested my opponents, surprising everyone with my two-handed technique. The pain in my hand became insignificant compared to the exhilaration of each victory. The cheers of the crowd fueled my determination, and I fought with pride and honor.
As the finalists were announced, I found myself face-to-face with my cousin. The clash of our swords echoed throughout the arena, creating a symphony of steel. We fought not as rivals but as two warriors bound by blood and shared experiences. It was a battle of skill, strength, and love.
In the end, I emerged victorious, claiming the championship of the sword fighting tournament. The crowd erupted in applause and admiration for the unexpected champion who had overcome such adversity. But more importantly, my brother, who had come to watch me fight, beamed with pride.
From that day forward, I continued to pursue my passion for sword fighting, but with a renewed perspective. I no longer fought solely for the thrill or enjoyment but also to honor those who supported me, especially my brother. And as I swung my sword, I glimpsed my missing thumb as a reminder of the pain, sacrifice, and love that had brought me to this very moment.