S: Brodefrid! He was right in front of you! Belly up on the ground! How could you possibly miss him? Twice?
B: *grunt* I’m not used to this armor.
S: I had to punch him to death because you couldn’t manage to hit a stupid Mitflit on the ground in front of you! <Playful punch on the arm>
B: Ouch! <Rubs arm.> Leave me alone.
M: <Looking up.> Did you see that one of them got away? I don’t much like that.
P: That first one hit you with its dart. Are you hurt?
S: Daaaad. It was literally a scratch. I think you should take a look at Brodefrid’s arm, though. Or maybe his ego?
P: No, let me take a look.
C: <At door.> *Worried squeak?*
Outside comes a tremendous roar.
P: Well, maybe it can wait a moment . . .