All I can think of is how irresponsible I would have been to have a hatchet and a knife at his age.
My old man gave my brother and I both at about his age. I (we) spent a lot of hours chopping ice on the brooks and dropping trees for forts. I'm still not sure how we made it out with all our fingers.
He's my old man's son all over again.
�Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.�
