Howie, a young padawan, about the age of fourteen wrestled with his little brother Nate who was only six. Nate liked to play with Howie because he had all the good toys that Nate was not allowed to touch. The only time he was allowed to touch Howie’s toys was when they were playing together. 

“Hi-ya!” Nate kicked and spun in the air. He plummeted to the ground and laughed. 

“No, Nate. You are supposed to do it this way.” Howie did a spin kick so fast that his shoe flew off, hitting Nate in the stomach.

Nate shook off the shoe punch and tried to make his spin kick as good as Howie’s. 

“Watch this, Howie.” Nate ran and tried to push his feet off the ground, but instead, his legs wound around one another, causing him to fall to the ground once again.

Howie broke out laughing. “You have to be one with the force, young padawan.” 

“Na uh, I can do it because I‘m the Master of Claws.” Nate burst out. He didn’t know what the Master of Claws actually did, but he liked the way it sounded. It was scary and beast-like. 

“Oh, forgive me young Master of Claws.” Howie lightly placed his hands on his chest and bowed slowly.

“Bow to me my servants.” Nate roared in his deepest voice.

“I’m not your servant!” Howie stood straight and put up his fists. “I will fight you if you try to entrap me to be your servant.” 

Nate picked up Howie’s favorite sword that their mom bought at the medieval festival last year. “You’ll meet your end if you don’t follow the Master of all.”

Howie laughed. “You mean the Master of Claws, Nate.” 

Nate held the hilt of the sword against his sternum pointing the wooden blade at his brother. “The Master of Claws is the Master of all, servant.” Nate’s lips slid back showing his teeth as his nose and eyes scrunched up into his best mean face. 

 “You’ll never catch me, Master of whatever.” Howie ran toward the house.

“I’m gonna get you. The Master of Claws can walk through walls.” Nate ran after Howie with the sword in hand. 

Howie dodged Nate as their feet found the patio. Running around the table and chairs, Howie dove toward the door and turned the handle. Given his moment of opportunity, Nate let the wooden sword come down on Howie’s arm that pushed the door open. 

“Ooooww!” Howie yelled. “I’m telling Mom!”

Sword still in hand, the Master of Claws turned back into Nate. “No, no, no. I’m sorry, Howie. I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?”

“Look at what you did.” Howie stuck out his arm, displaying an elongated red mark. “That’s gonna bruise, Nate. I’m lucky that you didn’t have a real sword or you would’ve cut my arm off.”

As Howie walked inside to tell, Nate sat on an old patio chair and waited. 

“Nate! Get your butt in here, now!” With his head hung low, Nate slowly set down the sword that he would not be allowed to touch for a very long time. 

He stared longingly at the sword for one last moment before his mom yelled. “Nate, get in here now!”

His feet scurried toward the door. “Coming Mom.”