Wooden swords

The boys sword fought all across the front lawn. Dodging and diving back and forth at each other, each boy gave the appropriate wails when he had been stabbed.

Wooden swords wouldn’t hurt them, their mother thought. Maybe a smashed finger perhaps, but nothing more. The day would come for them to leave for the academy. She would let them go proudly, but would cry once they were gone. Boys rarely came home once they left. She would be strong that was her duty.