At last, the young man lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear.
Bertade's lips slightly curled up. He nodded solemnly, half drew the longbow, and aimed carefully. After reflecting on his past experiences, he adjusted his aim slightly upward.
Tikalo's body shook like a sieve, and his legs went weak. Sweat beads rolled down his forehead, over his cheeks and neck, carrying the intense aroma of pineapple, as if it were soul-stirring.
Time seemed to stretch on like a century. Then, with a "buzz" of the bow trembling and a "whoosh" of an arrow shooting forth, followed by a "bang," the pineapple exploded, splashing juice in all directions.
The Mayan merchant trembled in fright. The force of the arrow knocked him backward, and his weak legs could no longer stand steady. He fell heavily backwards, hands still not daring to let go, as the juice of the pineapple flowed down his slender forehead, slid past his breath-held nose, and entered his parched mouth.