He stirs as the first rays of a new day shine down on their camp.  He sits up, his head just an inch or so from the top of the tent.  Gathering a whetstone and his sword, he moves outside.  Sitting so that he faces the sun, he can see that one of his companions is already awake.  He nods to her, setting the massive blade in his lap.  Dressed in pants, his shirt lying back in the tent, his muscles flex and flow as he begins his daily ritual of making sure his sword his sharp.  Pausing long enough to look at his companion.  "Greetings.  I am not sure if we were properly introduced.  I am Cyrus."