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30 Amit Bobrov
“And as you’ve grown taller and stronger, so have the stories
of your various adventures,” he said with a smile that hinted

that he knew everything. I raised my brows innocently, silently
challenging that knowledge.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He asked. I
shook my head innocently.
“I’m talking about the miller’s boy you beat up last week. Last
I heard his eye was swollen shut, and he only managed to open
it yesterday,” he said.
“May I defend m’self?” I asked in a strained civil tone,
clenching my fists under the dinner table, the innocent façade

quickly fading.
“By all means, please do,” he answered, and smiled, as if it
were a challenge of some kind.
“Inius Miller tried to nick a coin vich you gave me to perchis
bread. Now I couldn’t ha’ let him steal from you like dat, not
without a fight,” I replied proudly.
“So you were actually protecting me from the miller’s boy

by hitting him so hard that he can’t open his eye anymore,”
he commented, playing with his thin beard. “Very well, what
about little Tymon and Gerelde, the butcher’s boys, two weeks
ago?” He asked.
“Dat’s not fer! Dey both made fun of me noz bein’ too big. I
told dem I was born dat way, but dey wouldn’t stop,” I replied,
hoping he would cease this line of conversation.
“So you broke Archie’s nose and intimidated his little brother
so much he couldn’t stop crying for hours,” Ivar replied.

“Serves ‘em right for making fun of mi noz!” I replied, raising
my voice more than I intended. Ivar smiled a crooked smile as I
raised my voice. By breaking my calm, he had proven his point:
I’m a bully and I’m quick to anger at the slightest provocation.