That did not mean, of course, that he would launch into friendly conversation. Moria had begun to suspect that particular social skill was one he’d never mastered. Instead, their discussions would be much like the current one, which had begun when she’d noticed a flock of birds winging past and wished aloud that she were skilled in archery.

“Arrows are for hunters, not warriors,” he said. “Attacking an enemy from afar is cowardice.”

“And that includes the throwing of blades, I presume?”

“It depends on who’s throwing it. For a warrior in battle? Yes. That is why Orbec was not valued for his expertise. For you, though, it’s a wise choice.”

She was going to comment, probably sarcastically, but he continued.

“The dagger is a poor hand weapon. Most warriors rarely use theirs for anything more than cutting meat. It’s good for self-defense against an unarmed man, but otherwise nearly useless. The Keeper and Seeker aren’t warriors, though, and it isn’t as if they could properly handle swords.”

“Give me yours and we’ll see whether I can handle it.”

“You can wield it, but not well. It’s too big for you. That’s no insult, Keeper. It’s a simple fact. The sword”—he took his out and cut a loop in the air—“is intended for a man’s size and strength.”

“That sword is better suited to a man. Women warriors have thinner and lighter ones, which I will handle quite adeptly when my time comes.”

“Adeptly, perhaps, but against a true sword?” He lifted his. “A smaller one is like a dagger, an inferior weapon, which is why so few women become warriors.”

For Gavril, even discussion was a form of warfare. The trick, she’d learned, was not to take offense at his strong opinions.

She watched yet another flock of birds fly past.

“Ceding my point, Keeper?” he said after a moment.

“The birds,” she murmured. “We’ve scarcely seen any and now two flocks have passed within a hundred paces.”

“If you are unable to counter my point, have the courage to say so. Distraction is a coward’s gambit.”

A tremendous crack exploded in the distance, and they both froze. Moria looked down to see Daigo plastered against the ground, ears to his head. When she laughed, he gave her a baleful look, rose, and shook himself.

“Thunder,” Gavril murmured as he scanned the sun-bright sky.

“Is that what it sounds like?”

“Of course. What else—?” He paused. “I suppose you haven’t heard thunder before.”

And that, Moria reflected, was the difference between normal Gavril and good-tempered Gavril. There was still a snap to his words, but he skipped the ripe opportunity to mock and insult her.

“We do get rain in the Wastes,” she said. “Rarely, though. I suppose that’s what had the birds fleeing and the beasts cower—” Daigo cut her off with a growl.