They were walking back from the grocer's one afternoon when they passed a toy shop with all its little wares hung out in a wreath.
"Look, Su," said Peter. He shifted the grocery package he was holding so he could reach out and take a sword from the display. "A bit like Rhindon, isn't it?"
It was one of those wooden swords you might find in your stocking on Christmas morning, the hilt painted brown and yellow. In Peter's hand it looked small and foolish. A king holding a child's plaything. It was so unfair that Susan could almost scream.
She didn't; instead she turned away from him and towards the open street where people were hurrying home through the weak light of the afternoon. Some were giving the two of them odd looks, and Susan realized how silly they must seem—she was nearly fifteen after all, and Peter sixteen, and here they stood messing about in front of a toy shop. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"How about it, Su?" said Peter. She turned back and saw he was smiling a little wistfully, still holding the sword. "Shall we find you a bow?"
"No," she said. "We don't have any time for games."