It felt like overkill.
Tobias marched not ten paces from Newalla , eyeing the other youth sidelong. Unlike the troubled rogue, Ozoric carried himself with an air of confidence and detachment, seemingly above the troubles of the column. Reptilian, short winged Wyverns skittered alongside and between the carriages that comprised the caravan, screeching their discontent with the new assignment to the night sky. Flames at the fringes of the road lit the shadows and poured over the group, revealing a heavily armored Aelfric at the forefront of their march.
His honeyed eyes flicked from the front of the long line to the dirt. "We have dragons," Tobias muttered, "but we're playing guards to a Caravan." There was a distinct air of impudence that surrounded his words, a trait that set him apart from the humility of the Drakengard's finest. Ozoric was a world away before he'd spoken, but his disproving gaze found Tobias the moment his words hit home.
"Duty is an honor," Ozoric reminded Tobias sternly. "Or have you forgotten the alternative already?"
Tobias slumped a bit at the sobering words. He still recalled his exploits in Eiskalt, and the dank cell that held him for countless months thereafter. The opportunity to cleanse himself of those faults and find home in a tenuously held together family of brothers-at-arms was a blessing that Tobias had not deserved. He found himself less deserving with each reproach, regardless of who offered it. "So easily it seems forgotten," he muttered.
Heavy armor suited the rest of the band of guardsmen, but it sat heavy on Tobias' mantle and weighed him down. The partisan was a foreign weapon to him, and though it remained strapped to his back, he longed for something familiar. In the event of a battle, his wild swipes would profit them nothing. The murmur of crackling flames in the maw of a passing Wyvern drew his gaze, but Tobias knew better than to stare. They were quick tempered creatures, and eye contact could draw their ire just as quickly as being attacked.
Months of study had taught him a great deal about their culture and beginnings, but Tobias felt as though he might never fully integrate with their ranks. He lacked the chivalry of a knight, and the skill as well. He had a love for the Dragons, but he found no love returned. Perhaps it was true that a Dragon could see into the soul, and whatever they found in Tobias, the mythical beasts found no taste for.
Tobias shrugged the armor into a more comfortable position, though even that felt annoying. "Stop squirming," Ozoric snapped. "We are in formation." Tobias snorted, a sour look twisting his face, but he swallowed the vitriol that threatened to spew back at the son of Dragons.
"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Stalt asked, clearing his voice of venom. He straightened his back and continued to march. He watched the bushes in his peripherals for a long moment, then found his gaze on the carriage directly in front of him. While he saw now evidence of movement within, he thought he heard the giggle of feminine laughter.