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The situation deteriorated faster than Javan thought possible. Someone was going to get hurt, or killed - this was no game, and he’d told them that a hundred times before, at least! Now they were riding forward, one in front of the other, and the one behind (Garmund) was still drawing his string back to shoot.
Javan was hollering at them and had been hollering for a long time. Finally, the boys were listening. “What are you trying to do?” he shouted furiously. “Kill each other? Or your horses?” He trotted over to them. “I told you stop, but you didn’t listen, did you? Garmund, you might have killed Cnebba!” He stopped short abruptly. The boys’ look was not because of his anger but because walking towards them out from a stand of bushes and trees came Garstan.
Javan reined in his horse beside his two pupils and together, the three watched as Garmund’s father came near. His face was grave. He stopped and put his hand up on Garmund’s horse’s neck.
“That was interesting, boys,” he said.
“I tried to stop them,” Javan began while Garmund and Cnebba hurried to put in their stories, too - “I was going in first, but Cnebba cut in front of me.” “I was in the fore, Garmund should have waited till I was through! He threatened to shoot me!”
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