Bramblepoint Self-appraisal

“Bloody hell!” Mason spluttered, before biting his tongue. For one, he hadn’t realised Dash was old. For another, he couldn’t imagine travelling for years. A month maybe.

Dash asked him something else, and Mason looked at the ground as he admitted: “No… I don’t really like fighting much. I don’t think I’d be very good at it.” Feeling somewhat inadequate in face of all of Dash’s battle scars, Mason squinted up at his acquaintance’s face to determine what he thought of the admission.

“Actually, could you teach me?” he tacked on suddenly, his tail giving  a swish. He was nothing, if not forthright and earnest. It didn’t occur to him that maybe Dash had so many scars because he was bullied as a kid, or a terrible fighter.