The Leap

The Sword's speed increased with each step. No bush, twig, branch, or tree could slow him now. As he rapidly reached the next peak he began to bound a little. His run, his rage, had left a swath of broken vegetation behind his trail. It was a mark of rage left to bear on the mountain. It was with this rage that The Sword now took the last step of the mountain's peak and leapt into thin air.

The Run

The Sword's resolution quivered for a moment; the expanse of land that lay tween him and his target was large indeed. No mere stone's throw. He drew back. And began to run downhill from the peak where he had stood. The Sword ran away from, not towards to, his target. After he had ran a few paces he began a wide turn drawing an arc that would soon line his path towards a near peak. With each step his speed increased. And soon even before he had begun to turn, his speed had surpassed what could be achieved by any man. All the while The Sword ran, only one thought occupied his mind...

Revenge.

The Castle

The Sword looked upon the horizon. Far away, nestled tween the evergreen valleys of the countryside, lay the stones that would have melt upon his gaze. Know, o reader, that The Sword pretended to storm a castle so magnificent, that foreigners from the western lands cried with joy upon laying sight of it. Not only that, but the castle stood leagues apart from whence The Sword stood. And he pretended to reach it, merely by exerting the power of his incandescent revenge. The fire that smoldered his soul would propel him towards his destiny.