Familiarity between them is limited, Ellis knows. They work very well together. They have found a good rhythm between Ellis’ mace and the work of Marcus’ stave. That has been all they’ve needed.

It’s made easier by appreciation. Ellis has a great deal of it for those who excel at their work. And there is something of that here, something pleasing to observe as Marcus draws his fingers through the air.

“Are the rations too water-logged to put over the fire?” Ellis asks, as the fire takes hold, springs up warm between them. He follows Marcus’ example, sitting back fully. Reaches for the straps securing the plate over his thigh, deftly undoing the buckle. Even had he worn full plate, he’d likely be in the same position as he is now. He has lined nothing with fur, let the griffon be his only embellishment.