changing targets {puppy}

His gaze dropped, eyes locked on the knives lying on the ground. Throwing was something he was good at. Something he wouldn't ruin. So many messes were made in such a few days, yet Ivar knew it wasn't the end. Remembering the words spoken in the justice building helped him slightly, but in all reality the crippled teen was alone. Nobody cared about him, nobody wanted to become friends, but why would someone become friends with the enemy? Why trust someone when the end goal was the same? He knew nothing of trust, yet he knew everything about being ridiculed.

A heavy sigh left his chest, as the lifted a knife into his hand. This was the easy route, and it was probably the only route he had the chance of surviving. He couldn't bring himself to send the sword straight through the back of the enemy. It was something Ivar thought of many times wondering if it was the right thing to do. During training he was taught to fight head on, but this brought him a huge disadvantage. Being a crippled really hurt his chances of winning, but he knew he could do it. His entire life has led up to this moment, and he wanted to prove people wrong. He wanted to show that he was more than the burden his parents made him out to be. Showing Sigurd that he was better than the name calling - Ivar was tired of being mocked.

This was the one chance he had to redeem himself of his many failures.

Downcast eyes locked on the target set far away, and he wanted to reach it. Throwing the weapon was easy from the distance. Bows and arrows might work as well offering further safety, but even that didn't matter. His lungs expand, and he took the biggest breath possible before launching the knife towards the target missing the bullseye by an inch or two. I can do better. He demanded the best of himself, and he wanted to prove it. He readied another knife. This time he would hit the target. He would succeed if it was the last thing he did.