To his surprise, Natya hadn't utterly botched the training on her first batch of Initiates. Most of them could shoot straight, and they even managed to keep their eyes open. His assessment took most of the day, and that evening he picked a couple that seemed clever and set them to the task of learning sign language from Letto. They would learn it, then teach it to their fellows, enabling swift and silent communications while in the field. He picked out another five, the best shots of the bunch, and supplied them with rifles, ammo, and tents. Those he sent out into the wilds to hunt for more meat and other raw materials; a handful of nearby locations had yet to be scavenged, and any supplies they could carry they were to bring back.<br/><br/>His instruction was specific; if encountered the Vanguard were<i>not</i>to be engaged.<br/><br/>What he didn't notice about the day were the mutters about his lack of praise, or the whispers about his rough tone and unrelenting criticism. Not that he'd have cared much even if he had noticed. He was training soldiers, not running a daycare. If they didn't like getting yelled at for their failure to meet standards then they could quit. Or, worse, die on the field.<br/><br/>He was busy until late that night, and by the time he returned to their shared quarters he had a hard time keeping his eyes open. His weapons were in need of a cleaning, but he didn't have the energy, and simply left them on the desk before he lay in bed with a soft groan. "Malia?" he whispered softly, turning to look her way. "How'd your day go?"