He would not have expected a delighted audience, clapping hands and studying gaze, ready to reward or critique his performance. Boys should be surprised at first, and then confused, in the end perhaps uncomfortable more so with the silence and stretched out moment than the act itself. This little avoidance was almost proper. It helped Esflet along, like he wasn't easily climbing after so long under cork. When she answered he realized it couldn't really matter. He could not explain his shame for it, maybe it was simply a reluctance to not have known himself all this time, but it still simmered under his diaphragm and boiled his heart. He was not a lover of boy treasures, yet here Shy laid, like some lure. "Do you feel discriminated?" he posed back at her. Equally useless.<br/><br/>He could nod with defeat on the issue of a more lover-like approach to her attention. What a wish. He was almost certain he could sew things into her heart then, when she thought she was being haughty in saying such things. He left her speaking to his toes on the matter, since he had more important conclusions to reach, with his hands arguing. He was much more interested, it seemed, when she reacted to her next task. He was already happy at the point, expended, but she was ever fueling that something in him. How could blood be so beautiful on her face? He'd not seen his favorite women look like that. But awe soured to contempt, and there was nothing for her to let her retreat from what he'd told her to do, despite the sweetness in her disbelief.<br/><br/>He wondered if he'd ever be this taken with something in his life, the way she had to submit. To her own value, she spoke into the drawn out map of cooling white, and all of it bolstered him to stay exactly as he was, throbbing like there'd never been a reprieve with an inappropriate amount of appreciation for friction. It was like work, how she gathered it and put it down into herself, but he thought it was good work, at least. The hard of his admiration came to a point when she wiped the remains of him away. What a fantastical whore she could be. Would it be so bad to put all his unfair into one person? He could leave Shy at brothels for training. Pretty things are currency there, and it would be delicious to claim a life, and make it into a collection of pleasures for himself.<br/><br/>Hate welled and kept his length strong. Was it enough that she made him this other person, who have at boys for inclination's sake? Did she have to make him cruel about it, the way he'd not been to working women in the past, or virgin daughters of horrible enemies? Why did Shy propel him to do things he was angry about, and then dislike himself when those wants spiraled? She was just doing as he said, and standing there, and fighting with wooden sword. This should never have been a problem, and still it grated him more than the Coldmen.<br/><br/>All, she pressed when she was upright and still beautifully short. What else was there? Should he just bend her down already, relying on her dutiful, and have at her the way men are left to enjoy each other? He'd sure found it pleasing with other, long-haired friends. He nodded, and it was mercy for himself and her, but it was a malice to the member which wanted to be her hurtful partner. His expression was perfectly bored, but it became perfectly the opposite when she moved next. He was betraying himself, leagues, when her face was next to his. The curse that must be honesty awoke in him and he could only gasp like she'd stabbed him when they kissed. How could that mouth be a man's? What a fucking brat, letting him taste his own. He enjoyed it soon, and had his properties back when they unlocked. His flesh had waved at her from  below, at the surge of everything. Would he have felt different to know he'd taken a girl's first kiss, instead of William's? And the condition of that kiss.<br/><br/>Wile he sat and listened to her, his spirit went about the room thrashing everything a second time. How dare she make him out to be some kind of monster, when she was here corrupting him against himself? It was only such a sting because he understood. Proper? He wanted to put Namer to her. And to himself because she was right. He wore his usual calm, if dismemberment and worse had not seen him falter, neither would this. But he did not said anything else before she left, and that was a badge on its own. He managed a little grin, interpreting her exit. And then it was only him and his self-satisfaction until there were enough trails on the math that would have filled Shy to her brim if she'd been made to eat it all too.<br/><br/>-<br/><br/>Enil had wanted to wake the boy, but Esfelt had made sure to do it himself. A harsh kind of stirring, coming in to her tent and shaking her, pulling her to the ground and then holding her mouth. He wanted to savor her startle before telling her to get dressed in a hushed message. Maybe she would think the worst of him, come to finish what he'd heavily sugegsted yesterday. The ride here had been quiet, and they were only wearing what armor they that would not touch other metals. Stealth, the boy could recon. A choice few, not enough to win anything of value, on quiet horses that were left at the beginning of trees, one hour from the camp. It was precariously far away for a leader, and dangerously close for any relevant enemy to be.<br/><br/>He had already unsheathed Namer for the task and pulled Shy into him violently at every turn that she was too far away. This was his repentance to her, maybe. He'd seen enough to believe in her sword, but really, this was too soon for her, so he worried he'd taken her to her death with his seed in her stomach. At the edge of a clearing she would know what today would be about. It wasn't right, they way the Coldmen and their tell-tale skin were exposed to the lingering night. This was not the worst of these lands, but it was not possible for a person to be comfortable, let alone slumber like that.<br/><br/>He took her head and push her ear to his mouth, close, too close, mashing his lips up against the shell. Better be careful. Their myths always told of supernatural abilities, and Esfelt sorely believed in witches. "Scouts." Hot into her head. Which meant none of them could be left to run, because they'd run fast. The number of men on the ground without a fire was quite alarming. Coldmen were stupid to think this was needed for gathering information. Either they had come across a fraction who deserted, which didn't seem likely judging by their still official ranks and well kept equipment, or the Coldmen had bodies to spare, and were too new to tactics to care about secrecy. Esfelt didn't like the later.<br/><br/>Esfelt sent Enil in first, they weren't nearly as numerous for this to be a fair skirmish, but if they could pick them off before they woke, this could be a pleasant outing. Enil went about it quickly, cutting necks and holding mouths. It seemed Coldmen still needed their anatomy like men. Eventually, however, a creature two rows from where Enil was working turned into another, and the bumped soldier sat up. "To war then, boy." Esfelt whispered before he stood up as the creature screamed.<br/><br/>Enil drew his sword and Namer turned his first blueblood. The rest of Esfelt's men fanned out to find hearts for their weapons.