Vartan's teeth were starting to hurt.
It was a grey, gloomy afternoon. No one had seen the sun in several hours, and the clouds were pregnant with the promise of rain. But Vartan refused to use the oncoming storm as an excuse to slack off on his training. He knew that Uncle Zevach would work out in even the harshest of sleet showers, and he was determined to live up to his mentor.
Let the showers come and soak him through to the bone. Vartan was no sissy prettyboy like his brother Ishmael, prancing around their home glade and preening his wings at every opportunity. He was going to learn to take out the trash, just like Uncle.
And he wouldn't care when they drove him out for being regular, like they'd done to his older brother Jaci.
Vartan braced his legs, gritted his jaw tighter, and bent the green sapling he'd bitten down on as much as he could. He thought he felt his gums starting to bleed. This must definitely be making him stronger.
