"You have the forestry skills of a tuna," Aḥyl marvels. "How'd you make it this far south in the first place?"

"I walked in a random direction with a pack and a sword. Then I was caught in a blizzard, fell unconscious, and woke up in a caravan. They saw the sword and thought I might make a decent guard if they thawed me."

"Did you? Make a good guard, I mean?"

"They didn't need me to be good. I killed a few wolves and a wandering zombie; you don't have to be Kurgess to do that."

Shrug. "You don't have to be, but I think you are. Not Kurgess in particular, but – impressive."

"You're biased."

There's a splintering sound.

"– did you step on a branch?"

Then there's a much louder splintering sound.

Then there's a dire bear.

Beða's sword is in her hand inside a second. She leaps across the clearing and strikes, then dodges fang and claw, then strikes again.

Aḥyl keeps his distance, taking potshots with pebbles whenever Beða isn't in the way.

She notices the pattern and starts flanking so she'll be in the way less. And keeps hitting the bear with her sword, that's important too.

Aḥyl gets in a lucky shot at the back of the skull; the bear goes down with a deeply unpleasant sound.

"Nice work," Ajobeða says with the kind of alarming smile she gets after a really good fight.

"You're not even scratched," Aḥyl complains. "You're ridiculous!"

"Oh, stop. Bears are slow, you just have to pay attention."

She sets herself to the skinning.

"Sure. And I'm the one who's biased, about whether you're a great warrior."