The fist hit him straight in the chest and like Bruce, he went flying. Instead of hitting a tree, he landed on the soft mud right on the pond's edge. He didn't black out, but it did knock the wind out of him. He lay there on his back, stunned, slowly sinking into the mud.

Then a chest pain made itself known and he groaned, like a cornered animal would. He tried to get himself up, but the mud was slippery and was quick to take hold of his feet and pull him deeper as he struggled to stand. Looking up he saw something shiny just barely within arm's reach - his knife that flew from his grip.