She had heard all sorts of rumors about Esfelt Silverum. When he strode down the line, she was certain that most of them were at least half true. Vile temper and a demon's blood lust. Success was assured if you stood at his shoulder and impossible at the end of his blade. He took Olivier for his ranks, roughly, and she felt herself tense as he drew closer. Her feet planted a little wider, a small surge of adrenaline slicing through her veins. Shy wasn't about to let herself be made into a rag doll like Olivier, and Olivier was a good deal larger than she.<br/><br/>Shy was believed first impressions were important. At present Esfelt was not making what one might cal a<i>good</i>one. However, he was making the sort of impression he ought when leading boys into the frigid northern wilds. She thought she owed him the same. He didn't have to like her, if her wiry limbs and street-urchin reflexes were insulting. He just had to see that she was a fire worth tending when the cold encroached on all sides.  So, she said, "It's Will, actually," when he called her Shy, and gave him the clear-eyed look her brother had given the raider who'd burned down their home. She thought of Will, also, when Silverum's blade sang free and the cross-guard came hurtling toward her face. She didn't dodge it entirely, lest she break her place in line, but threw her weight away from it and caught less of its force to her cheek, the flat metal glancing across her jaw.<br/><br/>Will had not fallen immediately, when the hulking man had cleaved the boy's sternum in a single stroke. Her twin brother had staggered back first, reaching behind himself to shove her before he buckled to his knees. He'd gurgled something like 'run' before the blood spilled past his lips and painted his chin like a pagan warrior.<br/><br/>Shy righted herself, head ringing with the echos of the blow through her bones. She spit her blood at his feet. "Thinking the same as the rest, Ser," she said through grit teeth. She didn't blush, but the angry red where Namer had struck suggested the effect. It suited her, rosy blossom beneath those burning green eyes. He left her with an insult and she clenched her fists so hard her nails cut into the leather of her gloves.<br/><br/>When Esfelt was done and the other young men had begun to slink off toward the quarters--either to consider their rejection or grapple with their new fate--Shy remained in her place.  Marius saw her across the yard, had seen the whole exchange, really, and started to make his way toward her. She shouldn't be upset. Going on campaign with Silverum might mean glory, but it could just as easily mean death. He fought his men hard, because he could fight hard. If they caught something lethal in the process, it said nothing of victory. Victory was something Silverum could carry on his own shoulders. Everyone knew it. That was why it was so easy to bet your legend on Namer's edge. Marius wanted to tell Shy he shouldn't be so concerned about legends. To tell him he should go clean up his bruising cheek. But, he'd not made it more than half the distance toward Shy before Esfelt Silverum's personal runner was at the knight-hopeful's side. Marius stopped where he stood and watched the green-eyed boy follow the messenger away toward Esfelt's tent on the edge of town.<br/><br/>Shy was guarded when she went into the dim shelter, letting the flap fall closed behind her. Her cheek was swelling, one eye squinting against the rising inflammation, but that verdant stare still had a curiously feral glint that seemed to suggest old and wild places. Silverum might remember the way Selin had stared at him through the empty sockets of her bone crown, and the ancient fire there. "You wanted to see me?" she asked, shoulders square.