Moonspear fear is the hand that pulls your strings

The compliments fell on deaf ears; Revui was too busy nursing the gap in his teeth with the over-working of his tongue. A line of pink-toned spit dribbled out from between his lips, which he gathered with a flick of his tongue, and then he spat that out too. The glare didn't leave his face until he heard his father's commendation — his tone filled with pride, which in turn caused Revui to look sharply over to him and lift his chin just a smidge. He knew he had a lot more to learn, habits to break, and he would not stop until he could be considered one of the best upon the mountain.

His pride hurt the most. Revui loathed the idea that someone new to the mountain could have won this spar, and he was growing sour with every passing moment as he ruminated there in the snow. Without a word - but a glum little look that passed to Dirge - the boy hoisted himself to his feet and plot a course away from his opponent. One day he'd try this again, and he would not stop until he was the winner.