“Aye,” Wyatt says with a nod. Wyatt is just fine—more than, even. Though pride surges through him due to his own last name, it is now a name he relates to loss, and he is not ready to deal with said loss. Not yet.
Deciding he could be doing other things while he stands here speaking to Eralyn, Wyatt shrugs off the shield on his back, and unhooks the blade strapped to his hip. “You mentioned arrows, yes? How long have you been using a bow,” He asks as he begins to inspect his weaponry. Wyatt stops suddenly, looking up at Eralyn. “If you don’t mind my asking, of course,” He adds before continuing his inspection.
She bites back the I do mind and succeeds in not looking as if she's supremely thoughtful about this entire endeavor, eyeing his sword and shield for a moment before drawing her own bow from her back as if mirroring him. An eye for an eye, displaying weaponry for weaponry. An entirely legitimate strategy.
"Since I was old enough to hold one. Without shooting myself in the leg." A wry curve to her lips. "Every Dalish hunter is meant to hunt and bring back a pelt before they are ultimately considered a full hunter. So it was. And so I am." She shifts her gaze to her bow, carefully eyeing every line of finish. "And you, with your sword?"












