Sarnai sat alone by the fire, cleaning one of her weapons. It was an arming sword of pale metal, its crossguard wrought in graceful shapes, with a grass-green beryl set in the hilt. Although it was not the kind of blade she had been familiar with from her father's arms, it was Sarnai's first sword, a gift from her first true friend west of the Misty Mountains. She coughed quietly - her campfire was a bad idea for the evening, after all, and this one produced far too much smoke for her comfort - and leaned back against the worn stone wall, looking warily out of the cave-mouth for any who might approach.
Her traveling companion's seemingly endless stream of curses could be heard in the distance as he wandered further from their camp and out into the Midgewater Marshes, and she couldn't restrain a quiet scoff at his lack of subtlety. He had been swearing along the whole way, foul and filthy and coarse in his language in a way she had never learned, so she was surprised to notice that they had formed a strange bond along the way. There was much they held in common, Angelnarth's acquaintance the least of them, and yet Brulk acted so differently from her that Sarnai found him an almost constant source of irritation.
Despite being a Knight far longer than Sarnai, he seemed to be under the impression that she was the leader of their small traveling party. She was painfully unused to such responsibilities, but she tried to maintain what dignity she could in the hope of commanding respect. That didn't seem to stop him from needling her constantly with jibes and comments, and at this point she wondered if it was only a matter of time until he gave her some unflattering nickname. In some ways, she was grateful that she lacked a full vocabulary of Westron obscenities; she was not sure that she wanted to know what he was always saying. He had made enough crude comments about her that she had trouble resting well enough when he was around, but she knew that getting enough sleep when she had the chance would be crucial in the days ahead.
Brulk seemed to be about as fond of his secrets as she was, and Sarnai couldn't blame him for it. She had heard him explain a negative history with Sybri, likely related to the fact that Cynraede had called him a traitor, and of his origins among the Hill-men. They even had a few conversations she could have considered enlightening, even pleasant at times. Unlike most of those she had met in these lands, he did not seem to mind her scars, her dressing habits, or her vocation. His honesty was refreshing. Even some of his criticisms were legitimate, and yet he almost constantly grated on her nerves.
Thankfully, she felt she had not revealed too much to Brulk. He knew some, that was for sure, perhaps more than she wanted to, but she had not been too vulnerable. After all, he had apparently never heard of the Sons of the Spear, and Sarnai was fine with letting it stay that way. She had tried to put up a stoic front as much as possible, and even though it was far from perfect, it must have concealed a few things. He hadn't noticed her condition until she hinted at it, after all. Sarnai half-closed her eyes, beginning to relax a little. The tea helped with the pain, and she was glad to have paid enough attention to the various healers she had known over the years to have picked up that particular trick. It didn't seem to dull her senses, which was particularly helpful. After all, it was a poor time to be caught off-guard.
Sarnai sighed and put aside the rag she had used to clean her sword. She would have plenty of time to come to a conclusion regarding Brulk, likely weeks or months. This was giving her time to think. There was so much that she still felt was so opaque to her, and she was well aware that others in the Order found her questioning to be rather irksome, but she had to learn somehow...
Perhaps she could try asking Brulk when he came back.
