“THERE YOU ARE!” CJ called, waving me up to sit next to her on the section of the bleachers she had claimed with several red-and-gold blankets embroidered with the Three Dog Knights emblem. The arena was packed, this being the first official day of competition, probably a good 70 percent of the audience in garb, with another 20 percent families making an attempt to get into the spirit of the thing by donning bits and pieces of rented garb for the day. Women in T-shirts and shorts wore padded head rolls and veils, small children in expensive tennis shoes ran wild with plastic swords and Robin Hood hats, and guys of every shape and size wandered around in leather jerkins and gauntlets. “We saved you a spot. You haven’t missed much, just a couple Americans taking headers.”
“Crunchies,” Fenic
