Verissa ducked out of the tent and Asher tensed, staring at the bright triangle of the tent flap as he resisted the urge to go after her. Part of it was the concern that she might truly try to run, which would be bad for both of them. He didn't want her to get hurt in a moment of foolish panic, and he didn't want any misbehaviour reflecting poorly on himself. It wouldn't look good for a Swordmaster to be known as "that guy whose slave girl ran off". Removing her chains had been a gamble already, but as Asher shook the stern frown from his features and moved back to the cinnamon and sugared pancakes he decided that Verissa seemed to be made of stronger stuff than he would have expected.

Breakfast was a cruelly inadequate term for the variety of foods Asher managed to whip up as the sun started to climb. Chicken and duck eggs over-easy and scrambled, pancakes with only a tiny bit of honey, bacon and salted pork, and a handful of sliced apples. The reason for the smorgasboard had already been explained, though not directly. Moving camp often meant leaving things behind, especially things that were hard to transport. It also meant gorging on food that was harder to prepare on the road.

As was his habit, Asher hadn't bothered to sit, and was eating directly out of the skillet after serving whopping portions onto Verissa's plate. He now leaned casually against the edge of the table. It took a lot of calories to fuel a sword-fighter, apparently. Storm-gray eyes followed Verissa until she began to eat, and the meal progressed wordlessly until they both had empty dishes to put in a wooden handled tub near the flap. Later, Asher would show her where to go to wash them, pointing out big community troughs kept full and heated with simmering coals by slaves like her.

Asher had wandered over to take a look at his breastplate, nudging it around with his booted foot to scowl at the huge dent in the front, one of his hands rubbing a spot across his heart where he would have been split in two if not for the hammered steel. [color=707070]"Shit. I'll have to go see Gault to get this fixed. Again." [/color]

Glancing up again.[color=707070] "Of course."[/color] he moved to one of the simple chairs and sat in the backwards so that he could lean against the back and give Verissa better access to treat his wound. The bandage had shifted while he slept and while it was still doing its job, he knew it would feel better than it was fresh. He wasn't looking forward to the unpleasantness of being scrubbed and slathered with salve or whatever, but he felt a flicker of satisfaction when he felt her hands against his skin, though what exactly he was happy about was a vague and fleeting mystery.

[color=707070]"Tell me about your dogs,"[/color] he requested, watching Remilia's eyes. [color=707070]"They are not like Valley Dogs. Are they a hunting breed? I know they don't like me."[/color] He didn't sound particularly upset about it. In fact, he was almost amused by it, though his good humour wouldn't last if one of them bit him.

[color=707070]"Yes. Just let me know what you need. Or tell Shenzi if it's...women's things. She is much easier to talk to than me."[/color] He turned so that he could watch her out of the corner of his eye. [color=707070]"I will try to find out today if Jenny has already packed up. She's the best seamstress in the camp."[/color]

He was still, wanting to say something more, something comforting, but ultimately sighed and pretended it was just a reaction to Verissa messing with his injury.