I am rerunning this profound piece from my "artistic period" because I feel it represents my finest literary work.
Take a moment to gather yourself, become reflective and insightful, and let's cherish this moment of high art together, shall we?
He sits there on his spindly ass, reading his book as if that in itself will teach him the art of fencing. He will, once again, be humiliated in battle. Doomed to have his pride stolen as his sword is deftly plucked from his failing hand, he will scream like the wee lass that he is, down deep, where it counts. Most of the time he just sits numbly, contemplating his beard which is way too pointy. Damn him and his gangly limbs.
This abstract moment has been brought to you by Wilberteets.