Two bows steady, one target inanimate. Twin pairs of intense concentration, competition thick in the air between them. Rameses swore to get the first bulls-eye on the target, and Moses, just as competitive swore to do the same. They both wanted to be the first to have the bulls-eye. Two strings tighten, fingers curl around their bows, and two arrows draw back, tense as the princes' muscles.

"I'll have the first bulls-eye," Moses claimed through gritted teeth, barely moving his mouth.

"No, I will, Moses."

"You know I will."

"I will. First-born, first bulls-eye, Moses."

Two freed arrows fly swift.