He held the stick up to the sky. Though he was laughing, I stopped. For a moment he wasn't a child out for a walk, enamoured with a big stick; he was a warrior. It took a lot of strength to steady the long piece of wood above his head. He smiled and grimaced all at once. It was difficult to balance, yet he held on.
He is a warrior, I thought. How much this child has endured; how much he has seen. In such a short time he's won' battles many wouldn't even dare to enter.
The stick wobbled as he pointed it to the sky for a bit longer.
"Finished," he declared. He threw the stick to the sky and walked over to a pile of dirt. He picked up a handful and held it up, calculating his next battle. The dirt from his hands softly. He watched it and sat down to settle in.
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