Flik let his eyes wander up into the glow of the moon. His deep blue cape seemed to be alive on it's own accord as it twisted and shimmered against the gentle luminance of the night sky. And then is head cocked sideways, and he turned away from the moon up above, the symphonic crunch of the sand beneath his feet as he walked.
To the left of him was and old brick wall, beaten with years of weathering and barely left standing. The wall was no taller than Flik himself, and a forest green moss appeared the only thing permitting the structured existence of the brittle form. The wind picked up even more as minute pieces of dusty brick flew in the face of the man in blue; even the seemingly unmovable mass of green swayed despite it's resistance to such things.
Flik stopped. He tilted his head back and squinted at the moon as a slight smile crept into his expression. He blinked and looked back down at the ground, unable to rid himself of the smile, and began thrusting his right foot against the ground in short, quick movements. He put his left foot just beyond his right, and his arm flashed across his waist and latched on to the hilt of his sword. With an upward motion he drew Odessa, with his left wrist slightly forward and his arm a little away from his body so that the weapon came to rest parallel to his body and just beyond his torso in a defense position. The silver blade displayed a compound of reflections, with the moon casting it's own resonance of imagery, and the moonlight casting the reflection of Flik's own appearance.
Flik's face now riddled with determination and specked with his former blissful happiness, he began feinting and dodging, swinging his sword here and there and thrusting it into a nameless and faceless opposition. Faster and faster he went, cutting through his enemies with an almost serene sense of passionate hatred. The tranquil white puffs of air that had been flowing out his nose and mouth seemed to become quicker and more frantic as he continued.
With a mighty last effort he swung the sword above his head and thrust it down into the ground, and then fell backwards into the mossy green brick wall. his chest jerked erratically as he gasped for air. Flik looked at the sword he had struck into the ground just in front of him. He could see the reflection of the moon there in the sword, and could barely make out the engraved word 'Odessa' just above the reflection on the hilt. He smiled again, struggled to his feet, and grabbed the sword. Flik put Odessa back in it's sheath, and let out a small and almost inaudible snort through his smile.
He began walking again. He thought he'd go have a drink at the tavern.