“Damn you,” said the prince, panting, “this is not wrestling. You are not trying. It is no fun for me.” But Morag only smiled gently at him, like a simpleton, and did the same as before. “Come on, Beddyr,” called Caradoc. “Your brother is no good. He will not give me any fun. It is like wrestling with a dead man to wrestle with him.” Then Beddyr took off his tunic, and Morag went to guard the clothes. But it was no good. He was just as anxious as Morag not to throw his cousin, and Caradoc became more and more angry, until at last he shouted out, “What do you think I am made of, wax?” And when they both pretended to laugh at this, as though he were joking, he ran at them and kicked them hard, in all parts of the body, wherever his foot could reach. And as he kicked, they stood still, until
