Skittish Skirmishes

Chapter 8

Skittish Skirmishes

Two rivals met at the castle wall,
Each raising their wands, proud and tall.
The air held fire, their stance like steel,
A duel for pride, for strength made real.

First came a flick, a sharp green light,
The other countered with silvery white,
Their spells met mid-air, with a clash so bright—
Smoke rose up like shadows in flight.

One spun back, cloak catching the air,
And struck out hard, a spell to ensnare.
A jet of blue, like a serpent’s tail,
Wrapped round the other, fierce and pale.

He broke free fast with a fiery streak,
An embered arc, bright as it was bleak,
That circled close—then cut away,
Leaving his rival on guard and at bay.

They leapt through spells, with steps in sync,
Each feint like a line on the edge of ink.
A flash of red, then a shield of gold—
A storm of spells both young and bold.

Then one struck low with a burst of power,
The other staggered, held his ground an hour—
'Til he raised his wand, with a spell so strong,
The duel met its end, no right nor wrong.

Both held their wands with breaths of fire,
Eyes gleaming with respect, and quiet ire.
Two rivals bound, and none would yield—
In every clash, new strength revealed.