"Moment," mumbled the braided warrior in answer. "Wait a moment," she called out more loudly, turning the corner and stepping toward the training yard she'd seen earlier. She was very much caught up in foul thoughts, and there was something she needed to do.

There, in the training yard, she spotted a training dummy. In her paint she painted a Belgardian helm on it and the face of the rat bastard what touted on about traitors receiving their proper due. His sneer - she'd never had the chance to smash it off his face.

She liked to pretend, though. Ayla yanked an axe from her belt and hurled it over at the dummy in a clean motion. The resounding [i]crack![/i] that rose into the air was good and distinct. She stepped on forward slowly, pressed her foot against the poor dummy, and yanked the axe out from its chest. It felt good to do that, though not good enough.

"I'll get the drink," the Wodane said, looking on back at the big fellow and tucking her axe back into place. Her mind was a bit scattered at the moment, and the words didn't come out of her mouth quite right. "And I need to hit something... I'll get the beer."