Post by Eurydice on Mar 31, 2008 16:11:43 GMT -5
((Title shamelessly stolen from a track off the Road to Perdition soundtrack))
Torrential rain pounded the rooftop as Davin Arkov, dressed in simple, scuffed-up training clothes stood barefoot on the hard wood floor, a thin sheen of sweat hanging on his skin.
Normally, such activities took place out in the courtyard of the Sakis estate, a flat, hard-packed space of ground that had, over the years, served as comfortable training grounds for the three pairs of swordsmen, but it had been pouring in Mirdral for three days running now, and the Six Swords had moved their daily exercises inside. The spacious dining room had looked alright at the beginning of the downpour, and with most of the furniture shoved off to the sides or temporarily relocated to other rooms, the space served them adequately. Amiel had pointed out that it forced them to learn better how to work in an enclosed space, without the relative freedom of the courtyard. Nothing staying in the room had been broken, yet. They took their meals around the kitchen table.
Davin made a slow circuit of the room. In the two years that he had trained with Maura, they had settled into a comfortable morning routine, stretching and warming up separately, meeting to share new techniques and spar, starting with simple forms, progressing gradually to more creative, aggressive combat, until they were both pleasantly exhausted enough to pause for lunch. Afternoons were variable; some days, Maura would simply disappear for hours at a time, doing strange caster things. Davin didn’t really know too many of the specifics of how she did what she did, but it took tending to, as much as their swordsmanship did; he knew that much.
Pausing at a counter by the wall, Davin pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet and then rolled back down the curve of his soles until he stood flat on the floor again. He repeated a few times, rolling his shoulders slightly, trying to keep his motions fluid, gradual, and constant. His idea of coming to practice prepared was a quarter or a half an hour’s light warm up, enough to keep him limber without exhausting him.
Maura, of course, preferred coming to their sparring sessions after a long, wild run with Asriel, when she remembered to warm up at all. More often than not, she came to practice having just rolled out of bed, her hair a barely contained mess.
Davin was going through stances and positions, finding the proper balance and holding it—as she had taught him, and as she herself had been taught—when Maura walked in, brisk and military and dressed in tired looking training clothes of navy blue. Davin could just barely see the mischief in her eye before she spoke. “Apprentice.”
“Mistress.”
“What are you doing inside?”
He blinked a few times, not sure what this test was. “Well… it’s raining.”
She smiled genially. “And?”
Davin had long since learned when his mistress was teasing him and what it meant. “Nothing, Mistress. Merely making friendly conversation.” He scooped up his shoes, donned them quickly while she smiled approvingly, and straightened with a half-smile of trust. “Lead on.”
She smiled charmingly, took a few strides down the hallway, and while her familiar slept, curled up in the still-warm sheets, Maura Mordrellyn stepped out into the downpour and, with a flourish, gestured for Davin to follow.
He followed.
***
Mud squelched beneath his feet. Davin grimaced slightly as they pressed on through the storm. Instead of stopping at the courtyard, Maura had continued to trek on towards the edge of the woods outside of town. Davin knew the area well; it was well travelled, trampled, dusty, and in this crazy rain, it would be an absolute mess.
He squinted ahead. Maura had some sort of floating barrier above their heads, an invisible umbrella, shielding them from most of the spray from above, but it didn’t help with the mud spatter. He stepped as carefully as he could, but it did little.
By contrast, Maura was tramping ahead enthusiastically, ignoring the thick brown muck coating her pants legs. Davin sighed.
Only a handful of pedestrians passed them on the road. Maura and Davin, drenched entirely, walked out past the borders of Mirdral, to a clearing near the crossroads on the edge of the woods. Davin glanced around as much of the clearing as the curtain of rain would let him see; even with the rainfall hammering the dirt into mush, he could still keep his bearings, recognize landmarks around him. He oriented himself until he was satisfied that he could keep track of his surroundings enough that he didn’t run into anything large and solid, and he stood, awaiting instruction.
Maura circled him, her right hand resting on Crescent’s hilt. “Alright. Tell me what you need to compensate for, here.”
He flexed his hands, took a breath. “Limited visibility. Limited audibility. Wind. The ground slopes slightly to the north-east and is, at the moment, a complete mess.” Davin flicked his fingers; it was early autumn, but the rain had brought a chill with it. “The cold; it’ll be compounded by the damp conditions.”
“Good. What else?”
“Our clothes,” he said, shaking out his arms and legs as best he could. “They’ll be weighing us down as much as if we were wearing armor, slowing us down with the cold. Um. Our hands might slip, since our hands—and the hilts of our swords—are soaking.” He went through a mental checklist, checking from his smallest toe to the crown of his head, and he couldn’t think of any other major effects. “That all?”
His mistress smiled. “Probably not, but I can’t think of any more at the moment.” She drew Crescent, her hands adjusting to the grip, slick with rainwater. “Prepare yourself.”
Davin took in the clearing over a slow three count, making himself one last mental image of the empty space around them. “I am prepared.” He drew Hyperion, letting its peaceful, powerful hum warm him to the core of his being. His cold fingers flexed around the hilt, feeling the subtle difference in texture. Beads of water jeweled his eyelashes, and he blinked them away rapidly.
Maura raised her sword. “Come for me.”
His fingers gripping the hilt, Davin shot forward, like an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring, and swung.
Instantly, he felt the curtain of rain before his eyes double. He squinted furiously for a moment before realizing that of course, Maura must have dropped the barrier that had been shielding them from most of the rain’s aggression on their hike up here. The realization happened in the fraction of a second that it took for him to miss Crescent by several inches and for Maura to use his imbalance and, although only moderately balanced herself, send him stumbling a few feet away, off of his intended trajectory.
He shortened and slowed his steps as he went past her, feeling the pliable ground beneath his feet. He could feel his toes curl in his boots, as if they would help him grip the mud with a more solid grasp. Footing more secure, he ducked forward again, more tentative, almost playful, bringing his steel up to clash fully against hers this time; he let the contact stop him and he pushed back again, testing the ground again and again, seeing what speed and what stride would serve him best.
His next swing was still feinting, testing, but his opponent was finding her footing as well and had begun to counter more effectively, forcing him back several steps more under a flurry of blade and flying water. Davin found himself letting her push him back a few steps, skating backwards along the mud, before turning, pulling away, and letting her momentum send her skidding a few meters past. He heard her give a whoop of surprise and delight, and she turned on him again, eyes bright and merry against the bleak storm. Their feet both nicely settled to the terrain by now, they charged.
Davin had known from the outset that the change in audibility might be problematic, but it really was weird, barely being able to hear the customary clang of Hyperion meeting Crescent, stroke for stroke. He wondered if Maura had worked some spell to improve her own vision or hearing, just to give her the added advantage. It wasn’t that he minded it, for he was far past thinking of such practice as cheating, but it helped to know what she had going for her.
He could feel her pushing him closer to the edge of the trees; the runoff, in theory, would be slightly less of a problem there, the ground slightly more stable. He was fairly certain she hadn’t noticed, and as his feet found better purchase, he tensed his legs and launched himself, pressing her back in a burst of desperate effort. Pure muscle held them apart, blades crossed, arms taut, faces inches from each other—Davin’s face slack, eyes were wide, soaking up everything he could from their surroundings—Maura wore a devilish, lupine smile, and it occurred to Davin, not for the first time, how much of Asriel she became, when she fought. Davin’s effort pushed both of them back into the center of the clearing, and they sprang apart, breathing hard.
Davin raised his sword.
Maura raised hers.
They split the curtain of rain, roaring forward at each other.
In the half second before the blades met, Davin realized with a lurch that he had lost his footing. Contact threw him back, landing on his left side, Hyperion skidding to just barely out of reach. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Maura from coming at him; nothing but unconditional surrender would do that, and he had no intention of giving in yet. He saw her, legs first, cutting through the sheets of water and mud, and with a grunt, he reached out, grabbed her by the right boot, and pulled hard. She went down without a sound, and Davin used the momentum of her fall to pull himself a hair closer to Hyperion and snatch it up as he stood, sweeping his sleeve over his face to uselessly mop at his brow in the heartbeat before he swung at Maura’s sprawled form.
But she was’t there anymore, of course; out of the corner of his eye, he saw her rolling three, four, five meters away, and when she stood again, everything below her neck was coated in thick, dark mud. He saw her grin crookedly.
He couldn’t help it; he laughed, loud and low, and charged her again. Davin let her parry the blow with her customary efficiency, step out of his path and let him pass her, but instead of sliding wildly as he had done the first time, he went into a modified shoulder roll, tucking as best he could while keeping Hyperion safely out of the way, and then he was on one knee, then both feet, behind her, slicing through the air to strike Crescent out of her grasp, forcing her to skid back. Again, she rolled with the fall, spiraling away from him with remarkable ease. He was between her and the sword, though. He allowed himself a moment of breathless triumph.
That satisfaction lasted until something soppy and solid hit him in the cheek, and something else square in the middle of his forehead. He stumbled back a few feet, his left hand futilely wiping at his face as he landed flat on his backside. Davin scrambled back another meter before rising to his knees and seeing Maura, armed with another fistful of mud. “What?” she yelled. “Don’t they fight dirty where you come from?”
“Hell no!” he shouted over the roar of the wind.
“Me neither!” she cried delightedly and let loose with another volley.
Davin gave an undignified yell as he rolled away from the projectile. It was a counterproductive effort—all he got from avoiding the aerial onslaught of mud was another coating of mud as he rolled. With a triumphant crow, Maura was up and running again, scooping up Crescent, wielding it high above her head, but before she could bring it down towards his prone form, Davin went for her ankles again bringing her crashing down beside him, practically on top of him.
She was shrieking, giggling, swatting the mud between them towards his face while her legs churned, seeking a solid grip, but Davin, discarding Hyperion, grabbed her by the wrists and rolled her over and over in the mud until there was mud coating her face and hair, along with another coating of her torso and legs. With effort, she broke his grasp and started to drag herself away, but with an “Oh no, you don’t!” and a smile as wide as the sea, Davin knocked her back down, gripping her knees.
Maura would have laughed aloud again, if it hadn’t meant a mouthful of mud. Twisting around, an arm shot back, grabbed Davin by the back of the head, and dunked him fully in the muck as well. He giggled helplessly—such a strange sound coming from him, and while sober, no less!—writhing away playfully, as his grip on her legs loosened infinitesimally, and he slid down as far as her boots.
Well, she thought, that was no problem, and she wriggled out of her boots.
Davin saw her stand, exultant, and then trip as her feet, unprotected and significantly lacking traction, sank and slid, and she crashed down next to him again in a flurry of giggles.
Both of them were clawing at the mud, hurling it without aiming, laughing and writhing. Maura made it as far as upright on both knees again, and she descended on him with the force of a hurricane, pinning him, gripping both shoulders. Panting, he returned the favor, grabbing her by the shoulders and lifting her bodily. They tumbled, grappling shrieking with laughter, until one of Davin’s flailing arms flung against something hard, and Maura’s did too, and in an instant, they lay still, side by side, nose to nose, blades at each other’s throats.
They shook with laughter, fading slowly as their bodies became aware of the cold and the damp. “I think you have my sword, Apprentice,” Maura panted, grinning.
Davin’s eyes darted to the hilt in his hand and back to Maura. She was quite right, he saw; she had snatched up Hyperion, and he Crescent. He sat back on his haunches, smiling faintly. “Of course, Mistress.”
Their arms crossed as they exchanged blades.
Limbs still trembling with cold and with extreme laughter, Davin rocked back onto his knees and then to his feet. He mopped at his face for a moment before giving up and extended a hand to help Maura up as well. Just too late for him to do anything about it, he realized what a completely foolish idea this was, as Maura’s grip on his wrist tightened warningly, threw him into a puddle a few paces away, and the fray began anew.
***
Over a sink full of lunch dishes, Nolan glanced out the window and blinked, his head cocked to one side, as two curious figures made their way up the walkway. He carefully dried his hands, draped the towel over his shoulder, ambled to the front door, and opened it.
Maura and Davin, recognizable only by their relatively cleaner swords, stood a few paces off, her grin enthusiastic, his grin slightly guilty but resigned.
Nolan looked back and forth between the two golems. “Are you two alright?” he asked gravely.
They nodded, rain and mud shaking from their hair.
The Earthsword gave them a once over and, after determining that neither had sustained any serious damage, mental or physical, extended a hand. “I imagine your swords will need looking to. I’ll take them back to the workshop for you. And,” he added, deadpan, “I’m fairly sure that Lagoon will have a fit if you track all of that muck into the house.”
Maura looked at Davin, who shrugged.
The two set about unfastening their gear. They set it down on the front step, and while Nolan collected it, brushing off what he could and retreating into the house, mistress and apprentice stepped back out to stand under the rain and let it rinse them clean.
Torrential rain pounded the rooftop as Davin Arkov, dressed in simple, scuffed-up training clothes stood barefoot on the hard wood floor, a thin sheen of sweat hanging on his skin.
Normally, such activities took place out in the courtyard of the Sakis estate, a flat, hard-packed space of ground that had, over the years, served as comfortable training grounds for the three pairs of swordsmen, but it had been pouring in Mirdral for three days running now, and the Six Swords had moved their daily exercises inside. The spacious dining room had looked alright at the beginning of the downpour, and with most of the furniture shoved off to the sides or temporarily relocated to other rooms, the space served them adequately. Amiel had pointed out that it forced them to learn better how to work in an enclosed space, without the relative freedom of the courtyard. Nothing staying in the room had been broken, yet. They took their meals around the kitchen table.
Davin made a slow circuit of the room. In the two years that he had trained with Maura, they had settled into a comfortable morning routine, stretching and warming up separately, meeting to share new techniques and spar, starting with simple forms, progressing gradually to more creative, aggressive combat, until they were both pleasantly exhausted enough to pause for lunch. Afternoons were variable; some days, Maura would simply disappear for hours at a time, doing strange caster things. Davin didn’t really know too many of the specifics of how she did what she did, but it took tending to, as much as their swordsmanship did; he knew that much.
Pausing at a counter by the wall, Davin pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet and then rolled back down the curve of his soles until he stood flat on the floor again. He repeated a few times, rolling his shoulders slightly, trying to keep his motions fluid, gradual, and constant. His idea of coming to practice prepared was a quarter or a half an hour’s light warm up, enough to keep him limber without exhausting him.
Maura, of course, preferred coming to their sparring sessions after a long, wild run with Asriel, when she remembered to warm up at all. More often than not, she came to practice having just rolled out of bed, her hair a barely contained mess.
Davin was going through stances and positions, finding the proper balance and holding it—as she had taught him, and as she herself had been taught—when Maura walked in, brisk and military and dressed in tired looking training clothes of navy blue. Davin could just barely see the mischief in her eye before she spoke. “Apprentice.”
“Mistress.”
“What are you doing inside?”
He blinked a few times, not sure what this test was. “Well… it’s raining.”
She smiled genially. “And?”
Davin had long since learned when his mistress was teasing him and what it meant. “Nothing, Mistress. Merely making friendly conversation.” He scooped up his shoes, donned them quickly while she smiled approvingly, and straightened with a half-smile of trust. “Lead on.”
She smiled charmingly, took a few strides down the hallway, and while her familiar slept, curled up in the still-warm sheets, Maura Mordrellyn stepped out into the downpour and, with a flourish, gestured for Davin to follow.
He followed.
***
Mud squelched beneath his feet. Davin grimaced slightly as they pressed on through the storm. Instead of stopping at the courtyard, Maura had continued to trek on towards the edge of the woods outside of town. Davin knew the area well; it was well travelled, trampled, dusty, and in this crazy rain, it would be an absolute mess.
He squinted ahead. Maura had some sort of floating barrier above their heads, an invisible umbrella, shielding them from most of the spray from above, but it didn’t help with the mud spatter. He stepped as carefully as he could, but it did little.
By contrast, Maura was tramping ahead enthusiastically, ignoring the thick brown muck coating her pants legs. Davin sighed.
Only a handful of pedestrians passed them on the road. Maura and Davin, drenched entirely, walked out past the borders of Mirdral, to a clearing near the crossroads on the edge of the woods. Davin glanced around as much of the clearing as the curtain of rain would let him see; even with the rainfall hammering the dirt into mush, he could still keep his bearings, recognize landmarks around him. He oriented himself until he was satisfied that he could keep track of his surroundings enough that he didn’t run into anything large and solid, and he stood, awaiting instruction.
Maura circled him, her right hand resting on Crescent’s hilt. “Alright. Tell me what you need to compensate for, here.”
He flexed his hands, took a breath. “Limited visibility. Limited audibility. Wind. The ground slopes slightly to the north-east and is, at the moment, a complete mess.” Davin flicked his fingers; it was early autumn, but the rain had brought a chill with it. “The cold; it’ll be compounded by the damp conditions.”
“Good. What else?”
“Our clothes,” he said, shaking out his arms and legs as best he could. “They’ll be weighing us down as much as if we were wearing armor, slowing us down with the cold. Um. Our hands might slip, since our hands—and the hilts of our swords—are soaking.” He went through a mental checklist, checking from his smallest toe to the crown of his head, and he couldn’t think of any other major effects. “That all?”
His mistress smiled. “Probably not, but I can’t think of any more at the moment.” She drew Crescent, her hands adjusting to the grip, slick with rainwater. “Prepare yourself.”
Davin took in the clearing over a slow three count, making himself one last mental image of the empty space around them. “I am prepared.” He drew Hyperion, letting its peaceful, powerful hum warm him to the core of his being. His cold fingers flexed around the hilt, feeling the subtle difference in texture. Beads of water jeweled his eyelashes, and he blinked them away rapidly.
Maura raised her sword. “Come for me.”
His fingers gripping the hilt, Davin shot forward, like an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring, and swung.
Instantly, he felt the curtain of rain before his eyes double. He squinted furiously for a moment before realizing that of course, Maura must have dropped the barrier that had been shielding them from most of the rain’s aggression on their hike up here. The realization happened in the fraction of a second that it took for him to miss Crescent by several inches and for Maura to use his imbalance and, although only moderately balanced herself, send him stumbling a few feet away, off of his intended trajectory.
He shortened and slowed his steps as he went past her, feeling the pliable ground beneath his feet. He could feel his toes curl in his boots, as if they would help him grip the mud with a more solid grasp. Footing more secure, he ducked forward again, more tentative, almost playful, bringing his steel up to clash fully against hers this time; he let the contact stop him and he pushed back again, testing the ground again and again, seeing what speed and what stride would serve him best.
His next swing was still feinting, testing, but his opponent was finding her footing as well and had begun to counter more effectively, forcing him back several steps more under a flurry of blade and flying water. Davin found himself letting her push him back a few steps, skating backwards along the mud, before turning, pulling away, and letting her momentum send her skidding a few meters past. He heard her give a whoop of surprise and delight, and she turned on him again, eyes bright and merry against the bleak storm. Their feet both nicely settled to the terrain by now, they charged.
Davin had known from the outset that the change in audibility might be problematic, but it really was weird, barely being able to hear the customary clang of Hyperion meeting Crescent, stroke for stroke. He wondered if Maura had worked some spell to improve her own vision or hearing, just to give her the added advantage. It wasn’t that he minded it, for he was far past thinking of such practice as cheating, but it helped to know what she had going for her.
He could feel her pushing him closer to the edge of the trees; the runoff, in theory, would be slightly less of a problem there, the ground slightly more stable. He was fairly certain she hadn’t noticed, and as his feet found better purchase, he tensed his legs and launched himself, pressing her back in a burst of desperate effort. Pure muscle held them apart, blades crossed, arms taut, faces inches from each other—Davin’s face slack, eyes were wide, soaking up everything he could from their surroundings—Maura wore a devilish, lupine smile, and it occurred to Davin, not for the first time, how much of Asriel she became, when she fought. Davin’s effort pushed both of them back into the center of the clearing, and they sprang apart, breathing hard.
Davin raised his sword.
Maura raised hers.
They split the curtain of rain, roaring forward at each other.
In the half second before the blades met, Davin realized with a lurch that he had lost his footing. Contact threw him back, landing on his left side, Hyperion skidding to just barely out of reach. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Maura from coming at him; nothing but unconditional surrender would do that, and he had no intention of giving in yet. He saw her, legs first, cutting through the sheets of water and mud, and with a grunt, he reached out, grabbed her by the right boot, and pulled hard. She went down without a sound, and Davin used the momentum of her fall to pull himself a hair closer to Hyperion and snatch it up as he stood, sweeping his sleeve over his face to uselessly mop at his brow in the heartbeat before he swung at Maura’s sprawled form.
But she was’t there anymore, of course; out of the corner of his eye, he saw her rolling three, four, five meters away, and when she stood again, everything below her neck was coated in thick, dark mud. He saw her grin crookedly.
He couldn’t help it; he laughed, loud and low, and charged her again. Davin let her parry the blow with her customary efficiency, step out of his path and let him pass her, but instead of sliding wildly as he had done the first time, he went into a modified shoulder roll, tucking as best he could while keeping Hyperion safely out of the way, and then he was on one knee, then both feet, behind her, slicing through the air to strike Crescent out of her grasp, forcing her to skid back. Again, she rolled with the fall, spiraling away from him with remarkable ease. He was between her and the sword, though. He allowed himself a moment of breathless triumph.
That satisfaction lasted until something soppy and solid hit him in the cheek, and something else square in the middle of his forehead. He stumbled back a few feet, his left hand futilely wiping at his face as he landed flat on his backside. Davin scrambled back another meter before rising to his knees and seeing Maura, armed with another fistful of mud. “What?” she yelled. “Don’t they fight dirty where you come from?”
“Hell no!” he shouted over the roar of the wind.
“Me neither!” she cried delightedly and let loose with another volley.
Davin gave an undignified yell as he rolled away from the projectile. It was a counterproductive effort—all he got from avoiding the aerial onslaught of mud was another coating of mud as he rolled. With a triumphant crow, Maura was up and running again, scooping up Crescent, wielding it high above her head, but before she could bring it down towards his prone form, Davin went for her ankles again bringing her crashing down beside him, practically on top of him.
She was shrieking, giggling, swatting the mud between them towards his face while her legs churned, seeking a solid grip, but Davin, discarding Hyperion, grabbed her by the wrists and rolled her over and over in the mud until there was mud coating her face and hair, along with another coating of her torso and legs. With effort, she broke his grasp and started to drag herself away, but with an “Oh no, you don’t!” and a smile as wide as the sea, Davin knocked her back down, gripping her knees.
Maura would have laughed aloud again, if it hadn’t meant a mouthful of mud. Twisting around, an arm shot back, grabbed Davin by the back of the head, and dunked him fully in the muck as well. He giggled helplessly—such a strange sound coming from him, and while sober, no less!—writhing away playfully, as his grip on her legs loosened infinitesimally, and he slid down as far as her boots.
Well, she thought, that was no problem, and she wriggled out of her boots.
Davin saw her stand, exultant, and then trip as her feet, unprotected and significantly lacking traction, sank and slid, and she crashed down next to him again in a flurry of giggles.
Both of them were clawing at the mud, hurling it without aiming, laughing and writhing. Maura made it as far as upright on both knees again, and she descended on him with the force of a hurricane, pinning him, gripping both shoulders. Panting, he returned the favor, grabbing her by the shoulders and lifting her bodily. They tumbled, grappling shrieking with laughter, until one of Davin’s flailing arms flung against something hard, and Maura’s did too, and in an instant, they lay still, side by side, nose to nose, blades at each other’s throats.
They shook with laughter, fading slowly as their bodies became aware of the cold and the damp. “I think you have my sword, Apprentice,” Maura panted, grinning.
Davin’s eyes darted to the hilt in his hand and back to Maura. She was quite right, he saw; she had snatched up Hyperion, and he Crescent. He sat back on his haunches, smiling faintly. “Of course, Mistress.”
Their arms crossed as they exchanged blades.
Limbs still trembling with cold and with extreme laughter, Davin rocked back onto his knees and then to his feet. He mopped at his face for a moment before giving up and extended a hand to help Maura up as well. Just too late for him to do anything about it, he realized what a completely foolish idea this was, as Maura’s grip on his wrist tightened warningly, threw him into a puddle a few paces away, and the fray began anew.
***
Over a sink full of lunch dishes, Nolan glanced out the window and blinked, his head cocked to one side, as two curious figures made their way up the walkway. He carefully dried his hands, draped the towel over his shoulder, ambled to the front door, and opened it.
Maura and Davin, recognizable only by their relatively cleaner swords, stood a few paces off, her grin enthusiastic, his grin slightly guilty but resigned.
Nolan looked back and forth between the two golems. “Are you two alright?” he asked gravely.
They nodded, rain and mud shaking from their hair.
The Earthsword gave them a once over and, after determining that neither had sustained any serious damage, mental or physical, extended a hand. “I imagine your swords will need looking to. I’ll take them back to the workshop for you. And,” he added, deadpan, “I’m fairly sure that Lagoon will have a fit if you track all of that muck into the house.”
Maura looked at Davin, who shrugged.
The two set about unfastening their gear. They set it down on the front step, and while Nolan collected it, brushing off what he could and retreating into the house, mistress and apprentice stepped back out to stand under the rain and let it rinse them clean.
;