Fakir has dragged Mytho to a private lesson with Mr. Cat. Even Mytho couldn't get in trouble there, Fakir thinks. Fakir might as well go to the woods and brood.

Unfortunately (due to the demands of narrative convenience) the particular stand of trees Fakir chooses is already occupied. There are those boys, moving in a blur of elbows and knuckles and knees. One of them might be bleeding. It's hard to tell in the shadows.

Fakir informs himself firmly that he does not feel sick. They're just fighting, that's all. Warriors fight.

Warriors in stories don't fight like that.

I don't know how to fight like that.

Fortunately, at this juncture, Princess Tutu starts glimmering like a medium-sized and extremely irritating lantern. Fakir can be annoyed at her instead of ... whatever he was feeling before.