It had been a little sobering to hear Esfelt hold his success so loosely. Of course, it had been inevitable. When he said it, it wasn’t anywhere near a joke. Shy had tucked that sensation away as a reminder. She should not underestimate him, no matter how riled he made her. Somewhere in the midst of his peculiar bullying and her own propensity to snap back, she had been viewing him differently. This man, perched in glinting armor atop his warhorse, was the knight she’d been readying herself to follow, after all.<br/><br/>She had nodded and done as instructed, following Elmir around the camp site until the knight settled on a suitable location for their captain. He was quiet during that time, and made no comment on the fact she was inserting herself at Esfelt’s side. It made her wonder if this sort of initiation was typical of his command. Shy was efficient about setting up her small tent. It was a simple contraption her father had carried with him in the woods for longer hunts. Shy had recovered it when she’d returned to the rubble of her home, days after Will had been sliced through the belly. It looked absurdly shabby next to the structure Elmir went about setting up for Esfelt Silverum, but Shy hadn’t seemed to notice.<br/><br/>By the time she was finished tending to Marius’ horse and tying him off to graze near her tent, Esfelt had already begun swinging his way through the sparring circle. It was causing a good deal of stir, which was fortunate for morale and would set spirits high for the cold nights to come. It was difficult to fear too much, when your captain was godly. Shy found herself near Elmir again, a convenient coincidence she expected to become commonplace if she were to persist following Silverum about like a pup. It was unfortunate that Esfelt’s metaphor, the one she’d been displeased with, seemed superficially apt.<br/><br/>The quiet man spoke to her for the first time directly then, catching her by surprise. She grinned. “Of course.” The glittering green stare and the tight-lipped grin gave her the look of a street urchin. It was not an ill-suited impression. Shy darted off toward the circle, half-armored and fastened in her double-layer of leather again. When Esfelt made his way through the next man, throwing the training sword toward the eager ring, Shy seemed to materialize before him to grab it.<br/><br/>Small predators are terrors when they are both dogged and keen, slipping and dodging about their prey like the worst sort of nuisance. When Shy had first started training with Marius’ men, he’d called her a fox: a little shadow snapping gold and red in the sunlight. Now, she dancing the circle, thrusting little steps toward him and weaving back away, taking a moment to learn the ways Esfelt would move. She had seen him when he was unchallenged—because really, she’d yet to be in any place to challenge him—and she’d seen him on a horse. Neither was terribly informative of the sort of man she’d be facing now, head on.<br/><br/>She slid near and took a little thrust with her blade, testing the space between them before she was back out of his immediate reach. For a moment, when the late afternoon sunlight caught her rosy hair and a delighted, wicked smile curled her lips, it was difficult to believe she was anything but a Valkyrie, a Jeanne d’Arc. Battle maiden Lark. Around them, some of the men fell quiet, as if they’d also caught the hint of a spell. If men looked for comfort in each other, far from home and the women in their beds, Shy was sure to make herself a target.