It was a strange focus he was afforded with Shy. He saw her clearly, but it seemed some of her actions passed him by despite razor adherence to his eyes. In this fray it reminded him of fucking - that long lost mirage - when the pretty of the maiden was important, her reactions the only real product, and the work of your hips was paramount but forgotten. Her relished in the surprise he saw and the haughty of her lips when she smiled. He didn't forget to punch his shoulder forward when he tackled. Anger has a place in fucking, too. How delectable, her puzzlement and the miracle blade that had appeared in his hand.<br/><br/>A dull kind of vibrato, the only kind available from wood meeting itself, when their swords crossed. More so than sparsely folded metal, there was the risk of shattering, and his fingers tried to measure that chance before the mock-weapons held and his shoulder could land on her mystifying chest. Their bodies vaulted and they spun like rags flung together. Her face had felt like violence radiating into his own skull. His armor scooped the sand and turned it into rings in the air as they rolled. Good compromise, bringing him along.<br/><br/>He was looking for a point of halt in their wrestling, while keeping up with her dutiful defense. It was the fist to his jawline that reminded him not to be too picky about it, before simply using his weight to keep her down. His mouth was slick with breath when he looked down at her panting. How horribly lovely Shy looked, and how much he wanted to do more to her, then. He wanted to teach her many things, yes. "If I was a Coldman, you'd be cooling too." he reminded as he grabbed the hole where head head stuck out from her armor, and lifted her by it slightly, to slam her down with as much force as the height would allow. Esfelt got up after that, brushing himself off.<br/><br/>"I suppose you can come to war with us too, boy." he said, and the men were happy about that, judging by the way they went to help her up. Esfelt waved with the back of his hand as he left the ring. If this fight had been for spirit, and it had been, starting, then it was a great success. Elmir handed Namer back to its knight when the commander left the pit. Esfelt tested the weight of the weapon while thinking about Shy's cocky face, pushed into the sand.<br/><br/>It was a bit miserable to be one of the most decorated legends in recent military ranks then. Esfelt tried to mistake it for fury, with the broken shields and useless oak furniture they liked to stuff hit tent with, when he easily recalled the heat in him as something else. Among the rubble of a tantrum, he'd also mixed the plates of his armor in the splinters and pulled-out wooden panels. Somewhere he'd bent a ornamental sword, too. With his leather down and cock out, he was tending to himself, forehead to the middle-most supporting pillar of the large, triangular abode.<br/><br/>It had not been this willing for years, smeared in witch's brew and whatever blood Selin had kept in her vials. He laughed at himself, darkly, but also tried not to feel anything but what had given him this old chance. He head tilted so he could bite into the wood, spreading straight breaks in the material just as he splattered it, lower, with myriad threads of a very sought after release. He looked down at the limb, unabashed like it had not been defecting from its use for so long. Shy's face, and those glossy lips, smiling like she'd won even though she was on her back.<br/><br/>He scooped up and squeezed the produce in his palm as it cooled. This was an atrocious development, and if he found the witch today he'd string her up by her organs. He made sure to wipe the evidence clean before getting dressed in leisure garb.<br/><br/>It would be nighttime when Shy was called upon next. He was afraid of the boy, of course, but only for his own accounts, so there was no real threat to the commander in the invitation itself. Shy wasn't a conventional enemy. The broken things had been moved over to the side, strangely making a path from the flapping door to the chair where Esfelt sat. He hated Shy, truly, but she'd become important now, somehow. He suspected her mood would be good. That would be the boy's mistake.<br/><br/>"Did you enjoy our bout, boy?" he posed first, to contribute to whatever lightness was owed. Shy could have her time to answer. Esftelt was in cotton pants and leather harness over his chest, which had filled in somewhat since Selin, but not much. He was still longer than he was bulk. The leather straps were becoming, and he'd been known to wear them to whore establishments, in those days. "I wanted to asses if I'd hurt you." he started, and it was part truth. He waved two fingers for the boy to come closer. "On your knees, then, and open your mouth."