Editing Warhammer High (section)

==The Lion and the Fist==

Rogal and Lion elbowed each other hard as they stood near one another, laughing and throwing insults back and forth. Aside from a few other parents and the coach, there were no others around the boxing ring. After a few moments and another elbow, the men parted and moved toward the corners of the ring as their sons approached.

"Alright, Roger," Rogal said as he clapped his hands down on his son's shoulders. "You've been giving it to him good, but you need to keep your hands up! He's been giving you one or two in the gut and then abusing your head. You're a Dorn! You don't take blows like that from anyone!"

At the same time, Lion was holding up a water bottle for his son. "What are you doing in there, Thoreau? He's leaving his head wide open! Before you give me any lip, you have to take advantage of that! Hammer in on him, wait for him to feint and give him the hard south!"

All the while, the boys kept amused smiles on their faces and nodded as their fathers spoke. Simultaneously, they said, "Understood, dad." Both of the huge men grinned and stepped away from the ring as the bell sounded the start of the next round.

Stepping back into the ring, the boys nodded to one another as they stepped back in and laid into each other. Roger landed a few sharp jabs to Thoreau's jaw, dazing the boy. Before he could press, though, it was returned through a hard right hook into his ribs. The blow brought his hands down and Thoreau caught it, bringing his left hand into Roger's temple. He staggered for a moment before losing his balance, hitting the mat hard. Thoreau stood overhead, watching his friend as the coach began to count.

"Roger! Get up, boy! You're not done fighting yet!"

"You obviously don't know your boy then, Rogal! My Thoreau cleaned his clock!"

"Oh really, now? You're going to say that I don't know my own son!?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!"

The two men continued to shout and fight as Roger slowly made his way back up to his feet as a count of "9" was called.

"Nah. I'm done. Good fight, Thoreau."