Justin heard a low hooting from overhead. Looking up, he spotted a few of the dark-haired primates lounging spread-eagled in their leafy rooftop nests, watching the humans fighting below. Their curious hoots almost sounded like laughter. Justin glared at them.
"Anyone, even a country drunkard, will duck his head automatically if you try to punch him in the face like that," said Ahlund, wholly unconcerned with the blood streaming down his face, running through his beard, and soaking the front of his shirt. "Let us now assess your situation. You have given your opponent a small cut, and you have broken your own hand. Now he is angry, and you are crippled. Well done."
Justin was tempted to say something snarky or at least to tell Ahlund to hurry up his lecture. His hand was hurting badly and already swelling up. But he bit his tongue, literally, and decided to wait until Ahlund was finished.