She went with the challenged he offered. It was misery to the knight, to have at all the limbs and meeting no resistance. He might have wanted Shy to fret, if only because that kind of thing was satisfying, but also helped him keep himself at bay. Feeding his war-lust so that others wouldn't burn brighter. It seemed easy to access what he wanted with this boy, and Esfelt did not want that. He liked the women who played with him this way, even the daughters of defeated villagers, when they were haughty in a quiet way, but it was completely wrong that Shy would act similarly.<br/><br/>It was the kind of thing he'd learned while taking great punishment from fellow warriors that kept his composure intact now, when Shy spoke with those strange lips with asinine gusto. "It's just that, then, isn't it?" he asked back. "You haven't done anything but look unfitting for the job." he said. An old, romantic logic. Were they writing a bonfire tale, or what? Esfelt could stand for that kind of dream, because it made recruits into knights, but he didn't believe it much, himself. He'd suffered despite having this life as a legacy, why should some starcrossed fate find someone else, and lift them above his own climb?<br/><br/>The conversation shifted to his benefit, and out of reflex he'd molded Shy firmer to his plated guard to protect the limb Selin had rendered useless while the boy told his story. Anger in the youth crawled louder in their muscles. It was good. At least vengeance could carry tired bones through when muscles were failing. Was this his favorite now? Dapper young sprouts who had a good tale behind them. Was he s fucking powdered maiden swooning over red leather-back books and printed pictures?<br/><br/>"Go then." he said, bittered. It could be read as a dismissive, disappointed attitude. What did Shy know? Maybe that was exactly how a leader treated budding sword-hands. He was right, also, because the sweet scent hiding underneath the sweat that was now gone was still lingering inside Esfelt's skull. Fucking whore Selin and her sadistic turn of magic. Worst deal. And all because he'd tried out the pretty vessel until her slick parts loved and hated him.<br/><br/>Esfelt stood and hooked his armored foot into Shy's side, and flipped her out of his way. It was a tricky thing, usually abused when the enemy was down but not dead, to access their back for a relatively sure kill. With very little meat on him, and without armor to weigh him down, Shy had no chance of not spinning at least twice the distance a heavily protected goon would. Esfelt would like seeing that at least, but even this satisfaction was tainted. On particularly volatile raids he'd use this battle motion for the spoils left behind, so he could seek them out and calm them with his cock.<br/><br/>He sat down by his chair and touched his back against the edge of the seat. The knight gestured for the boy to walk out. "But you're fun. Puppies are fun. You stay close to me, Shy, take the tent next to mine. It'll be a good show, watching you stumble on the field, and maybe your blade will catch a few necks for me, eh?" To reduce the boy's own crusade. Hatred wasn't a good enough fuel on its own when the Silverum son chose his lot, but he'd not bothered to delve deeper into Shy's life to learn of other fetters to a sword's hilt, so vengeance would have to do. He was dirtying himself for this, and also risking the campaign and the lives spent on it. The boy could be formidable, but he'd not chosen him for that.<br/><br/>"I am serious, boy. Clean or not, you should leave me."