The day dawned clear and bright. The armies arrayed themselves, facing each other across the unblemished field. One band stood fast before the cardboard towers and crenelations of their fortified outpost. The other group manned the trebuchet, straining as they moved the arm into position.
The ammunition was loaded into the sleeve, and they all backed away. A young man pulled hard on the cable that held the latch in place. The counterweight dropped, and the arm swung around. At the top of its sweep, it flung its missile across the clear blue sky.
One of the defenders raised his sword in defiance. Another stood hapless at the point of impact and was struck. He staggered, and liquid splattered the grass at his feet.
The water balloon... had found its mark.
(We just returned from the birthday party of my cousin's eleven-year-old son.)