Nimue stared open mouthed at the wooden swords. Words tried to come out but all she could manage to do was to open and close her mouth like a fish. For once in her life she was speechless. She picked up the sword that Maric held out to her and ran her slender fingers over the hilt. He had polished the wood with a stone until it was as smooth as silk. The sword was the length of her arm and had some heft to it. Even if the edge wouldn’t cut someone, being hit by the stout piece of wood could ring some serious bells.<br/><br/>She looked at Maric with wonder and back at the sword in her hands. Finally actions took over and she knelt on both knees in front of him, holding the haft as if it were a cross. This she held up to him and said in the solemn vow of a man at arms.<br/><br/>“I swear by this holy iron, well, wood, that I pledge ye my fealty and pledge ye my loyalty to the hand of Lord Maric, the Paladin Knight. If ever my hand shall be raised against ye in rebellion, I ask that this holy iron, well, wood, shall pierce my heart or at least bash my head in."<br/><br/>Nimue meant the vow. She considered herself part of Maric’s heart and life as he was hers. Now with this gift of a practice sword, she believed he was preparing her to fight by his side and to have his back. She believed her was giving her more than the gift of the sword but the gift of his trust and belief in her. She was humbled and exhilarated.