A trail of crimson ran down Ekalavya’s hand and onto the dirt. The boy used his free hand to apply pressure to the new wound, his thumb now missing. Drona looked down at Ekalavya, stone-faced, as emotionless as he could be. He was mildly surprised that the young archer had completed such a serious request with no refusal. When asked to cut off his right thumb, listened to the words of his teacher, someone he had not even trained with in person, and did what was asked of him. “What a shame,” Ekalavya said to himself, quietly. Drona raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Ekalavya looked up at the taller man, his deep brown eyes brimming with tears. Drona assumed the tears were in relation to the pain of losing a thumb in a brutal fashion. “I could’ve been great. You know that, right?” Ekalavya paused, wincing in pain as he shifted his hand slightly. “I had been practicing so hard too.” “I can tell. That’s why this
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