Brushing away black locks that were desperately in need of grooming, Davel continued his aimless meandering through the aisles.  The armory contained weapons of every sort, from thin stiletto's that would leave a wound so small that it would be difficult to find on a corpse, to quarterstaff's and staves, and everything in between.  Running a thumb down the edge of a sword he had no name for, he jerked his hand back with a coarse oath and jammed the bloody digit into his mouth.  Cursing himself for a fool, he moved on.

 

He was here to take his first steps in training.  When Thera had told him he must choose the weapons with which he would train, he had initially thought nothing of it.  As he had lain in bed last night, however, with only the sounds of the twins Del and Ada stirring in their sleep for company, his thoughts would continually dwell on the choice he would make today, when they were not on his sister.  After he had concluded there was nothing more he could do for Lyss, and he must throw himself into his training as the Mistress had advised, he had worried the thought of what weapon to choose for most of the night.  Waking this morning having gotten very little rest and with Del and Ada already up and gone, he had dressed slowly and made his way to the armory, still unsure what he would choose.

 

He had hoped that Thera herself would be here to help him with this, but understood her reasons why she could not be.  She had many duties that she must attend to, and could not give him any special treatment despite the bond they now shared in Lyss.  Instead, she had told him, a Tower Guard named Visar would be arriving at some point this morning to help him.

 

Wondering what kind of man Visar would be, and how he could help him make this decision, he quickened his pace among the racks of weapons.  Three weapons, Thera had said, but the latter two were no problem.  It was only practical to have both ranged and stealth weapons in his arsenal, and he had already decided on the quillion dagger and short bow to meet these needs.  The dagger would fit well in coat sleeves and boot tops, and the horse-bow was short enough that he would have no trouble drawing it with his short frame.  It was the choice of his primary weapon that was giving him the trouble.

 

Suddenly, his eyes locked on a blade amongst the multitudes and his feet froze in place.  Reaching out with a hand that was no longer his own he took it down from the rack and examined it closely.  Single edged and arching in a curve sharper than most others he had seen, it was built to be used with one hand, and the weight in his hand was familiar, although it had been years since he had seen it's like.  The grip was textured so as not to slip in a sweaty palm, and a arch of steel from the top of the hilt to the bottom would protect the bearer's knuckles from direct attack.  The heavy blade was perhaps as wide as the length of his thumb at the base, and there was a notch shortly above it to catch an opponents weapon.  Widening to a length of nearly a hand and a half near the top, it tapered sharply towards the front to a wicked looking point.  The metal of the blade was thick and durable, able to withstand severe punishment that would shatter other, weaker swords.  Davel knew the cutlass well.  Although when he had left the sea he had been too young to have learned proper use of the blade himself, it had been his mothers weapon of choice, and holding one in his hand brought thoughts of her he had thought long since abandoned. 

 

Where others might be ashamed to be the son of a pirate, Davel maintained a quiet pride in his heritage.  He had loved life at the sea, loved the thrill of fighting nature for survival and calling no man master.  He had even loved his mother, but in the end none of this could compare to the love he had borne for his sister.  Wielding his mothers weapons would be an appropriate homage to a past that was behind him but not forgotten or resented.  Taking down the sword belt and sheath that had hung next to the blade he had chosen, he turned to find he was no longer alone.

 

His hand holding the sword, acting on instinct forged on a pirate vessel and sharpened by life in the Rahad, swung in an immediate if clumsy arc at the stranger.  Faster than Davel thought possible, the man brought a two handed sword around to block his blow.  Both from the shock running up his arm and being appalled at having attacked what could only be Visar, the Tower Guard assigned to train him today,  Davel dropped the cutlass and took a step back.  Clear and unflinching brown eyes met his own gray eyes, and Visar stood completely still, claymore steady as a rock and his stance displaying a readiness to move immediately in any direction.  Fighting down the fear he felt growing in his gut, Davel stiffened his spine to prevent any further display of cowardice and waited for Visar to make the next move.

Visar was notified that there was a trainee wanting his advice in the armory for his selection.  as he made his way there, Visar wondered what kind of a person this Davel would be.  He loosened his scabbard from his belt in case the trainee would want to examine his own weapon and the reasons he chose it.  As he entered the armory with its multitudes of racks of weapons, Visar quickly saw Davel in there looking at a sword.

 

Visar silently approached the man, not wanting to interrupt his intent stare at the sword.  As the man held the vicious cutting blade, Visar noted that it seemed to fit the trainee's ragged look.

 

The trainee turned as he realized Visar was there, and Visar was almost surprised when the trainee tried to strike him.  In a lightning quick reaction, Visar stepped in and intercepted the blow, half unsheathing his weapon as the cutlass blade crashed down at the strong of his blade, and then slid down to stop on his cross.  The trainee dropped the sword in shock, recognizing that Visar was a Tower Guard, no doubt.

 

Thankful that the trainee was not foolish enough to strike at him again, Visar picked up the cutlass after sheathing his own blade.  In his hand, it felt a simple but sturdy design.  Visar personally held mmany single edged cutting swords in an attitude of disdain, considering them to be merely crude, large knives. Yet he could understand why some might be attracted to them.  For some, simplicity was best, even if a double edged sword was more versatile a weapon in Visar's opinion.  Nothing cut better than a sword designed to, however, and this cutlass was such, in addition to being capable of delivering a savage thrust.

 

"I see you have already found a weapon that screams to be used." he joked, trying to lighten the trainee's horrified expression a little.

 

"I am guardsman Visar.  You must be trainee Davel, yes?  Striking at a superior unprovoked is a potentially serious offense, and I do not recommend you try that again.  But we will discuss that later.  For now, we deal with our intended purpose here. Forgive me for sneaking up on you, Davel, but your instincts may serve you well when a real enemy tries to do the same.  However, you would do well to remember the proverb, "Know friend from foe before committing to thy blow.""  Visar slowly and carefully handed the sword back to the trainee.

"Tell me, Davel, why this sword?  What does this blade tell you?  Is it its simplicity of design and function?" Visar guessed, idly curious why a cutlass out of the multitude of other deadly weapons in the armory caught the man's eye.  "Or is there some other significance to the weapon?"

 

As Davel explained about the cutlass's significance, Visar listened and went to get some cleaning tools from a drawer nearby.

The attitude Visar displayed regarding Davel swinging at him was relaxed, but Davel still expected some sort of punishment for it.  Visar had implied that such might be necessary, and while Davel wasn't pleased that his first formal training experience would likely result in disciplinary action, he was willing to accept the consequences of his actions.  What they were would surely be a reflection of what kind of authority figure Visar was.  The guardsman seemed fairly nonchalant, though, enough so that he sheathed his own weapon and queried Davel about why he had made the choice he had.

 

While Davel finished his shaky and brief explanation of why the cutlass was his chosen weapon, Visar was laying out an array of oils, rags, whetstones, and grinding stones.  He explained to him that frequent oiling was the best way to prevent rust, along with keeping a steel weapon away from moist environments.  Davel was surprised to hear that the sheath was not typically the best place for storing his blade when it was not in use, as moisture could accumulate quickly in such a confined place, although a well-oiled blade would be more likely to withstand being kept there.  He listened and watched intently as Visar showed which tools were best for cleaning away rust before it pitted the sword.  He explained that sharpening after hard use was necessary to prevent nicks and weak spots in the blade where they could break later, as well as a dull sword naturally being a less desirable weapon than a sharp one.  Visar then asked Davel to repeat back what he had been told, as well as demonstrate the uses of the tools he had brought over.

 

With only a little effort, Davel was able to repeat the fairly simple instructions Visar had given.  He oiled the sword as he had been shown, and gave the cutlass a few slow strokes with the whetstone before Visar told him that he was satisfied.

 

Having just received a sheen of oil, Davel judged the blade safe to store in it's sheath, and he slid the cutlass home.  He looked up at Visar, who stood a few paces away, observing with arms crossed and his feet a firm shoulder width apart.

 

“I have two other weapons I'd like to learn the basic care of, guardsman,” Davel said to him as he struggled to belt on his new weapon.  After a moment he managed to buckle it comfortably, and continued.  “I've chosen the quillion dagger and short bow as my secondary and tertiary weapons, and I know very little about them.”

Visar showed Davel what he knew of caring for a sword, surprising himself with rather long but simple explanations.  The trainee seemed to pick up the gist of it fairly quickly.  Visar noted many things on how to care for the sword normally, how to prevent rust or unnecessary nicks, etc.  He also added a little warning about using the weapon.

 

"And when you use the sword, either in practice or for real, if you must block passively with your blade, do not block their edge with yours.  This naturally causes terrible blade damage, and it's best avoided by using the flat or softer back edge of the weapon, which are better parries to set up a counter anyway.  Remember, 'softer' steel can be repaired much more easily than the hard steel of a keen edge, for the latter will break before it bends, and once the hard edge is completely worn down, it won't be worth the cost of repairing the entire edge.  The smithies at the armory can attest to this difficulty first hand.  I believe it has something to do with heat treatment...Anyway, swords are meant to last generations if used carefully and sparingly, so keep what I've told you in mind when you use yours, and your weapon will protect you for a long time."

 

Visar had Davel practice what he had shown, and once satisfied that the man could oil and check his weapon, and repeat the information he had given back to him, Visar waited, wondering if he needed to show the trainee different sorts of weapons for his second or third choices.

 

To his surprise, the trainee seemed to have already decided which weapons he meant to use.  Visar nodded in approval.  Davel seemed to share his wish in being a well rounded warrior, using different ranges of weapons.  Visar's eyes twinkled knowingly at the quillon dagger, but he managed to hold his enthusiasm back, addressing the latter weapon choice first.

 

"The bow...I am no expert on, though I have practiced a little.  I do know a couple of guardsmen who would be glad to teach you the art of archery.  Have you selected a bow from here already?  Or would you like to look for one?"

 

Visar guided Davel over to a section with multitudes of unstrung bows and unloaded crossbows against the wall.  After Davel found one of his liking, Visar showed Davel how to string a bow, which was easier with a short bow, and advised briefly on the care of the wood and the bowstring, simply warning about humidity, dryness, and extreme temperatures which could warp the wood or damage the string.

 

"You'll want to see a fletcher, too.  We have a few here at the Tower, and they'll know much more than I do about the selection and care of arrows.  In fact, you should learn how to make arrows if you mean to be an expert archer.  After we finish in here, I'll take you to the fletchers' corner in the armory.  Do you have any questions so far?" Visar asked, not sure how much longer he could delay before launching into a detailed discussion of daggers, which was his secondary weapon too.

Davel had his eyes locked on the curved bow in his hands, but nonetheless he could hear the anticipation  in Visar's voice when he mentioned the quillion dagger.  Struggling mightily to un-string the bow that Visar had just helped him to string, he finally managed to wrench the well oiled, elastic length from the bow frame, and it promptly snapped.  Muttering to himself, Davel bent to retrieve the pieces of the broken string, hoping he was not blushing as hotly as he felt. 

 

“No questions, guardsman,” Davel said in response to Visar's query.  “Other than how bloody long it will take before stringing and un-stringing this light forsaken hunk of wood doesn't make me want to throw it against a wall.”  He said the last part under his breath, but the smirk on Visar's face as Davel met his gaze told him that the guardsman had heard every word.  Clearing his throat to cover another flush of embarrassment,  Davel continued.  “I'm sure I will get the hang of it, with enough practice.  I think I'm ready to move on and discuss the particulars of caring for daggers, now.”

 

So far this morning was not going as well as he'd hoped.  After being up all night agonizing over what weapons to choose, his first act upon holding his new sword was to strike a blow at a superior officer.  An ineffectual blow, to be sure, but still not something to be proud of.  Then he rubbed the palms of his hands raw on that cursed bow-string, and snapped it to boot.  Hopefully he would get a chance to redeem himself on the third go round.  After all, he had often carried daggers to protect himself in Ebou Dar, and had been in more than one knife fight, with the scars to prove it.  The way things were going today, though, it seemed just as likely he would stab himself with the knife as demonstrate any proficiency with it.  Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves, Davel followed Visar as the guardsman led the way eagerly over to the racks of daggers.

Visar looked somewhat sympathetic as Davel snapped the bowstring attempting to unstring it.  That was an easy thing to do if it was forced. The trainee seemed not to want to dwell on it.

 

"I'm sure I will get the hang of it, with enough practice.  I think I'm ready to move on and discuss the particulars of caring for daggers, now.”

 

"Very well.  Be sure to ask a tower guardsman or warder who's more proficient at the bow than I, and in the meantime, carry around extra bow strings.  But enough of that.  On to the daggers, then!"  He said with a grin, and led the trainee over to the drawers and racks of knives and daggers.

 

"You said you wanted one with quillons yes?"  Visar queried, pointing to a few of those types that were laying around, most of them sheathed.

 

"Pick one you like, but be sure to try others just to be sure you've picked one that feels right to you.  A Dagger or knife is actually much easier to take care of than a sword.  Just keep it sheathed when you're not using it. Check the blade and hilt for any damage.  Clean, oil and sharpen it now and then but not excessively.  And don't dull the blade by using it as your whittling or utility knife, and you should be able to rely on it in a pinch."

 

Visar quickly showed Davel two ways to draw the dagger from the sheath, and showed him to buckle the sheathed dagger on the hip which was his dominant side (right handed, right side).

 

"It seems you've chosen your three weapons, well and good.  Before we move on, I'd like you to look at some other weapons in the armory, just to be familiar with their care, and to be certain you've made the choice right for you."

 

Visar showed Davel the large section with myriads of pole-weapons, from simple spears and pikes to tridents, halberds, glaives, pole-axes, and other wicked looking implements.  Taking care of these was a combination of cleaning and caring for the wooden shaft, and making sure the metal wasn't rusted, dulled, or damaged.  Visar gave Davel some advice on the importance of training against pole-arms and being familiar of their use, since they were such common and dangerous weapons. Even a relatively inexperienced warrior with a staff or spear could defeat a skilled warrior with a shorter weapon, Visar explained.  He let Davel pick up and clean a few of them, and did the same with other sections with shields, axes, maces, and hammers, crossbows, other weapons, and also the various armor available.

 

"Did you want to train in any armor? Feel free to borrow something here if it will fit you. I myself train in some armor, even if only to protect me in sparring with blunt steel.  But it's up to you."

Davel attached the dagger to the belt already at his waist with very little trouble, having already puzzled out the buckles when he donned the sword.  The weapons hanging on either hip added unfamiliar weight, and he took a few experimental strides to accustom himself to it.  Satisfied that everything was firmly in place, he came to stop a few paces in front of Visar.

 

“Truth be told, guardsman I had not considered wearing armor.”  Davel knew that most soldiers tended to wear armor, but the Warder he had met in Ebou Dar had worn none, and the few he had seen since coming to Tar Valon generally had not either, aside from the occasional helm or breast plate.  And, as Visar had stated, some did wear armor for training purposes.  Giving the matter a brief moment of thought, Davel answered,  “I think I will wait to make that decision.  For the time, I will train without armor.  I don't want to grow dependent on it should I choose later that it isn't for me.  It will be easier to re-train myself with armor later than to have to learn how to fight without if I get too used to wearing it.”

 

As he finished talking and regarded the guardsman in front of him, Davel reflected on the new acquaintance he had made this morning.  As superior officers went, Visar seemed able enough.  Other than Davel's initial reaction to being caught unawares, something that nearly always gained the same reaction from him, the two of them had got on fairly well.  Visar had been friendly and helpful, offering advice and instruction based on years of experience.  Not only that, but the guardsman had been understanding and even a bit sympathetic toward Davel's embarrassing ineptitude, but had chosen not to draw attention to the fact.  Davel considered himself in Visar's debt to a slight degree for that, and truly would do his best to take the punishment the man was certain to set for him with as good a grace as he could muster. 

 

Reminded by that train of thought of this morning's inevitable conclusion, he set his jaw, admonishing himself that the days of having no one but himself to answer to were behind him now.  “I assume I am to be punished for striking at you?  I would rather get that over and done with as soon as possible.  Sir.”  He hadn't used the honorific yet this morning, and Visar hadn't commented on the fact, but placing the man above him in word as well as deed helped to balm the wound of taking orders and punishments from someone.  Before Visar had a chance to reply though, Davel remembered a question he had meant to ask earlier.  “My apologies, but this thought slipped my mind, before.  I assume I am allowed to retain these weapons while I train, until I can get some of my own?  If not, I'll return them right away.”  Having asked all the questions he had for the moment, Davel waited less than eagerly for Visar to reply.

 

[OOC:  Feel free to be creative with Davel's punishment.  He's still chafing at being in a situation where he has to take orders, and this could be a good learning experience for him.  Something regarding an eagerness to swing before looking, combined with training with his shiny new sword?  Also, if you think it would be appropriate to work in Visar's upcoming dagger defense course, that could be a good way to wrap things up.]

“I think I will wait to make that decision.  For the time, I will train without armor.  I don't want to grow dependent on it should I choose later that it isn't for me.  It will be easier to re-train myself with armor later than to have to learn how to fight without if I get too used to wearing it.”

 

Visar nodded.  Made enough sense to him.

 

“I assume I am to be punished for striking at you?  I would rather get that over and done with as soon as possible.  Sir.”

 

Visar lifted an eyebrow.  It seems like this trainee already had his mistake full on his mind, or else he wouldn't have reminded Visar of a punishment.  But before he could reply to an appropriate punishment, Davel had another question about the weapons.

 

"Yes, you can keep the weapons for now, and turn them in once you find ones of your own.  In fact, if they last and you like them, you might be able to keep them permanently once you become a Tower Guard.  I myself followed this option with these."  Visar tapped the pommel of his long sword.  He and the weapon had gone through a lot together already, but it was thankfully still in one piece.

 

"As to your punishment... To instill discipline, you will serve three hours of labor per day related to what you have learned here.  During this time you will be around weapons but not allowed to use them or swing them around carelessly.  Your missed training time you will simply have to catch up as best you can." Visar thought for a moment.  "There is a large section of the armory that is under a great deal of disrepair: racks that need to be replaced, swords and armor that are rusted or otherwise damaged.  You will report here tomorrow after lunch and help clean and sort that section for two hours, or whatever else the armory master requires of you.  Pump bellows, sand mail, dust the corners, whatever he requires you to do, you do it.  Hopefully by the time you are done most of that section will be cleaned out, and you will have mastered taking care of all sorts of equipment.  Before you tell me that I can't count, after that," Visar added, "you will work with the fletchers one hour a day making arrows.  You will do this for the next four weeks.  And for striking me..."

 

Visar grinned.  "I am teaching a dagger defense course in three days, three hours after dawn.  You will serve as my demonstration partner.  Attack when and where I say so and such.  And before you think I'm doing you a favor...I am known to be very rough on my training partners, and dagger defense is no exception.  Come on time, well stretched and prepared for aches and bruises.  If necessary I'll send you to the Yellows, but hopefully it won't come to that."

 

"You got all of that?  Any questions, trainee Davel?"

 

“No questions sir,” Davel said, standing stiffly, eyes straight ahead.  Light!  A month of labor in the armory?  And an hour a day making arrows?  If fletching was anywhere near as strenuous on his hands as stringing that bloody good-for-nothing horse-bow, his fingers were likely to end each day a red mass of bruises.  He had expected maybe some extra hours training for a  day or two, maybe even squiring for Visar until the man was satisfied, but nothing like this.  The Tower Guards seemed to have tighter discipline than his mother had ever demanded.  Of course on her vessel, although many things could be overlooked, there were always those offenses that warranted a death sentence.  Davel wondered briefly what he would have to do to earn such a punishment here.  Inwardly shaking himself at such a ridiculous line of thought, Davel resolved to turn his mind to more pressing matters.

 

The labor punishment set, while harsh in Davel's eyes, could still be seen as useful training.  A month of caring for weapons and making his own arrows would surely prepare him for a lifetime of caring for his own tools.  Struggling to force down the resentment at being set any kind of penance, he considered the addition  Visar had added at the end, as if tossing it out there with no significance.

 

Indeed, Davel assumed the opposite was true.  While Visar had said that being designated his demonstration partner was not intended as an honor, Davel fully intended to use the opportunity to begin proving his worth in the yards.  He already knew he was no match for Visar in combat.  The mans lightning-quick reaction to Davel's unexpected strike proved that.  Perhaps, though, he would not make a fool of himself, and in doing so, improve his skills with the short blades he had chosen as his secondary weapon.  Without striving to better himself, he would never be able to become a Warder and repay his debt to Aes Sedai.  Determined to take the bad with the good, Davel swallowed the bitter medicine that was his pride and met Visar in the eyes, the first time since the man had told him what his punishment was to be.

 

“I will report back here tomorrow after the noon meal, guardsman.  And following that, I will attend the fletcher.  And you can expect to see me in three days to assist you in  your course in any way you see fit.”  Straining to keep any sourness from his voice, Davel was not sure he was successful.  Well, Visar would just have to accept the respectful words, whether his tone matched them or no.  With a wry smile he added, “Hopefully the Yellow's will not be too hard pressed when you are done with me.  Now, if I am to lose three hours a day for the next month,” Davel could not keep the edge from his voice on that word, “I would like to get as much training as possible done in the meantime.  If I have your permission to withdraw. . .?”

The trainee seemed rather alarmed at having been assigned such a harsh punishment, yet at least Visar had not required a lashing, as was custom for striking a superior officer in the army.  In addition, the punishments he assigned were intended to be useful to teach (with the magnificant if boring ways of repetition) Davel things he needed to know.

 

Yet the trainee took the punishment admirably, even if it was clear he didn't seem like he was honored or would enjoy it.  That was fine by Visar though.  One did not have to enjoy their job to do it correctly, and there was plenty about being a soldier that could be unpleasant; the sooner trainees got used to that, the better off they would be.

 

“Hopefully the Yellow's will not be too hard pressed when you are done with me.  Now, if I am to lose three hours a day for the next month, I would like to get as much training as possible done in the meantime.  If I have your permission to withdraw. . .?”

 

"Ah, yes, I shouldn't keep you too long, should I?  Well, take good care of the weapons you have selected, and I hope you learn something from working in the armory and fletcher." Visar said, not unkindly.  "I'll see you in three days, trainee."

 

Visar added encouragingly,

"I'm sure if you are determined and work hard at managing your time, you will find all the hours you need to train around the time I have assigned to you. I have every confidence you are capable of keeping up, Davel."  Then, realizing he probably came off as a little too friendly, Visar stiffened, adding more formally. "You may be dismissed, trainee."

 

(ooc: ok post a reply wrapping things up, and then you'll be done with the thread.  if you want to include starting the 'punishment' the next day you can, or you can save it for another thread if you wish.  Up to you)

“You may be dismissed, trainee.”

 

Until that final, especially formal statement, Visar had been friendly and encouraging toward Davel at the last.  In hindsight, perhaps the guardsman had been more lenient than Davel had thought at first.  After a month in the armory and with the fletcher, Davel would be able to care for each and every one of his chosen weapons in his sleep.  In fact, if a crewman had struck at his mother, she would have had him flogged in the rigging, no matter the excuses.

 

“In three days, then, Guardsman Visar.”  Davel saluted as smartly as he was able, most likely a sloppy effort due to lack of practice.  Then, with brisk strides, he strode from the armory and out into the yards.

 

While Visar had been fair, helpful, and supportive, there was still a piece of of Davel's heart that harbored a smoldering coal of resentment.  Since he had given Lyss into Thera's keeping, the lack of her presence had once more hardened his heart against accepting any friendly overtures, and what may or may not have been an attempt by Visar to reach out to him had fallen on temporarily deaf ears.  He would truly do his best to fulfill his obligation, else why was he here?  He still didn't think he had the proper frame of mind to be in a subordinate position to anyone, though.  Attempting to crush the seeds of anger taking root within him, he pushed up the door to the barracks he shared with the twins, more roughly than was perhaps necessary.

 

Grateful that Del and Ada were still out,  Davel propped his short bow in the corner and tried vainly to find a comfortable position to sit on his cot while wearing his sword belt.  After several frustrating moments, Davel gave it up for a bad job.  The newness and excitement of wearing new weapons that were his and his alone wasn't worth hilts jabbing him in the ribs and scabbards tangling in his legs.  Unbuckling the belt, he was about to set the cutlass and dagger next to his bow, then decided against it.    Unsheathing the cutlass, he brought it back with him to the cot, where he sat and placed the sword across his knees. 

 

Staring down at the gleaming blade, Davel realized with some small shock that before this morning in the armory, he hadn't once thought of his mother in months.  Recently he had been so wrapped up in reaching Tar Valon and training with the Warders, and naturally, caring for his sister, that there had been little room for anything else.  Holding the sword that could twin to the one at his mothers hip, he wondered if she was well.  Did she miss him, and her daughter?  Had she been distraught at their disappearance, or shrugged it off as less responsibility for herself?  Perhaps she had just been angry at him for so blatantly disregarding her as a superior.  He would not put any of those reactions past the woman who had raised him.

 

Davel had been so concerned with the debt he owed to Aes Sedai, that he had not considered that he might also owe something to his own mother.  If she cared not for him or Lyss, than he would not care for her, but if she did...he owed her an explanation.  As he brought out the whetstone Visar had given him, he started slow, even strokes along the edge of his cutlass.  From hilt to tip, first one side, then the other.  He lost himself in the repetition, and his mind wandered further.  Would he ever see his mother again, and what would happen if he did?  Far into the afternoon hours, the stone could be heard making soft rasping sounds as Davel thought about his past, and his future.