You can never truly know a woman until you taste her food,
A man when you taste his steel
A man when you taste his steel
Kayle's father's words echoed in his head as he watched the Midlander, never breaking contact with his eyes. Â
Hands and thoughts can be deceiving, but eyes never lie. Â
"Aye, I've time for a quarrel" he said with a cautious grin, moving his gaze from the smirking Desmond to the scabbard at Redwind's side. Â Â "The wind's in our favor, and will keep our smoke and voices from reaching the encampment before we do."Â He comforted the bird, assuring her that the coming commotion is in good taste and amongst friends. Â He fed her a handful of greens from a pouch on his belt, and whispered something into her ear as he slid the scabbard from it's mount.
Affectionately, Kayle brushed his hand along the simple hardened leather scabbard and drew his blade, slowly.  It was an awkward motion for him, as it was typically only drawn out of necessity and certainly never to be taken lightly.  The blade itself was a queer thing to see, and was not of standard issue.  Only slightly smaller than a swortsword, it appeared thin and narrow.  It did not take the men's trained eyes long to realize it was a re-purposed spearhead, with tastefully plain decorations along the withered edge.  The remnants of the wooden pole once connected were wrapped in soft leather and a pommel had been affixed to the otherwise plain handle.  He smiled as he inspected the blade, making sure to keep the point aimed down.
Never point your blade at something you aren't willing to destroy.
Kayle took a wide berth away from his mount, circling outwards until the men we evenly distance. Â Raising his eyes from the ground, he drew in his breath and pointed his blade at Desmond. Â "My apologies, friend. Â I fear I may disappoint you."
![[Image: Driftwood.png]](https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/wiki/images/6/63/Driftwood.png)
