Instead, the blue youth inclined his head in rapt intrigue as she voiced her intentions to be a warrior once she reached the corresponding age. He’d never actually known what he’d wanted to be until a pivotal, heart-stopping venture, when he’d gazed out on a friend’s corpse and shouted at a Colossus, when he’d been a little David shrieking at Goliath, when he’d been incapable of doing anything, too late, not enough. The prince wasn’t truly surprised at the notion – maybe it’d come from seeing her mother rush in to defend her at all costs, perhaps she’d like to wield a shield, a sword, press her blade into the flesh of the infidel who’d struck down the silver Amazon. He’d oblige her either way. Who was he to stop someone who wanted vengeance, just the same as he? His captivating smile lingered along his mouth then, one ear twisting towards Wessex’s offerings (nearly proposing to take the girl under her tutelage, newcomers and wards sticking together), careful, studious gaze resting solely on the girl. The soldier’s suggestions were thoughtful, enough to keep Oizys sharpened and keen while she grew (and avoided fighting entirely, he hoped, no sense of getting damaged and scorched before reaching maturity, ignoring Orsino’s pulsing laugh about levelheadedness), and he only intended to bestow a few more. “We frequently patrol the borders, especially with recent events.” He nodded towards Wessex, grin broad and bright, proud of her willingness, grateful for her inclinations. “You can watch our spars until you come of age as well. Once you’re old enough, you may participate and practice with the rest of us.” The glimmer of his stare rested back along the youth and her companion, wondering if the tasks would be enough for them, if they’d keep their minds focused, or if they’d wander down a path of no return.
@Oizys @Wessex