Young warrior and hunter of the Nightjar tribe

Skorec (pron. Shkorets) means Starlet in a few Eastern European languages. His "civil" name is Petja, and he is one of more than 300 rebels. His father is the leader of the rebellious bunch. He is Homsarec, as his father. They are fearless, but not ruthless, they don't obey the royal orders, but have reasons for what they do.

Excerpt from "Isegrim's Diary" -- Homsarecs! III

My hands are trembling. I can hardly write.
Have to start at the beginning.
We had breakfast. The fight was scheduled for noon. Due to Perkele's sense of humor.
The sun broke through. The fight was to be done on the green behind the house on trodden snow, so it wouldn't hurt much to fall.
Petja appeared on the other side. I feared him. He was a strong, tall man, even taller than his father, but not as well-trained.
In spite of my fear, I wanted to see it all. I had hardly slept at all, half-awake like it used to be.
We took out kitchen-stools for all of us to watch the fight, Perkele's wives Visedom and Marja, two grown-up daughters and Mavini who loved to do our hair-styles. All of them would cross fingers for their patron.
It did not relieve my conflict. And when the choice of weapons was due -- blunt stone axes for throwing -- I was in fear for my Duke.
He came up to me: "Warriors' kiss!"
I was puzzled for a moment and offered my ear. He laughed: "Where are you, little wolf? I'm the warrior! Bite me!"
I took his ear and did him the favour.
For the first time, I saw the change take place. The taste of blood was in my mouth. He went down on all fours and concentrated. Now the hormons would pour into his blood.
Apart from his belt, he was naked. His motions gave me some hope. Not a pen-pusher, but a slender and flexible man, a long-distance runner,  not a muscleman. His oiled skin was shining. His blood had trickled down and created a letter in the snow, much like an 'OM'-sign.
I was shocked when Petja was first to step into the circle. Also he was in Joy de Guerre by now.
Perkele sat on a stool, waiting for his moment.
He gave me a glance, wild and almost mad. As if it was all my fault. "Why didn't you keep quiet, so we can live in the woods in peace? What is your problem? If someone gets hurt now, you're to blame."
That's what he seemed to be thinking.
But now, Petja made his first attack on the Duke.
Petja's advantage was his size and strength. But Tanguta the Duke was quick. I saw that he used the axe for defense alone. It was blunt, wedge-shaped, and I saw that the handle was one of those I had carved, massive cherry-wood. I had chosen it well, as I saw, when Petja's axe handle cracked and splintered, as the Duke used mine for defense.
The fight had to go on as a wrestling. Advantage Petja again? Tanguta was clever. He calculated the slippery ground well, gave a push -- not even a very strong one -- and made Petja lose his footing. His second shoulder touched the ground, this was the prompt for Perkele to step into the circle. Petja sat down on the stool and looked mortified.
"If you want it to be done, do it on your own", Perkele murmured.
"Blunt axe", was Tanguta's choice.
"Sharp axe", replied Perkele.
A new one was brought to him from inside.
I was shocked and started trembling.
Petja gave his father a warrior's kiss.
Tanguta came back to me and reached for the axe.
"But it is blunt!" I whispered, "and he will fight with the sharp one..."
"Alright, don't fear", he said closely to my ear, "I don't want him to lose blood", and he weighed the axe in his hand.