"Show yourself!" shouted the boy. "Fight me face to face... Coward!". Again the attacker made his move from the shadows and again the youngling fled. "As long as you continue to cower in shadow, I will continue to run." And there he was.
He stood on one of the many roofs of the desert city of Mos Eisley. Sheathed in black robes, he stood against the pale gray sky as the unforgiving suns of Tatooine shone behind him and then, he spoke. "Very well..."
"It's about time. Now let's do this!" said the anxious youngling. His anticipation for this moment was strong. For several hours the young boy had been evading the cunning attacker, dodging his attacks and running to regain his ground only for the attacker to reveal himself again and the process repeat.
Both stand tired, short of breath. The pursuit had taken its toll on both fighters... The heat was relentless, but both knew it must be done. They must finish this now or it would never end and so they drew their weapons.
"Prepare yourself!" yelled the child as he charged blindly. "Foolish boy..." snickered the cloaked figure. And with one swift strike to the side, the boy fell to the ground. He had failed...
"Get up boy." The broken boy rose to his feet. "Your name?" "Tristan" he muttered. "Tristan, I admire your persistence. Your will is strong but your mind... is lost." The man hesitated as if to question this decision. "I assume you understand the commitment and are aware the sacrifices you must undergo?" The boy nodded. "Very well. You may call me... Master."
