Raven's Watch you only understand the language of the sword

They had let their guard down.

In the moments before, his eyes went half-lidded as his voice trailed off. A yawn split his jaw in two; rest would be good tonight, he thought. Safely nestled in the crook of the watch’s arm along the lake, they would perhaps replenish their stamina in full rather than go through restless stages. No stirring to strange rustling or waking from disorienting dreams. No fear or threat—the ravens would keep them aware if trouble came.

Except for when they didn’t, as birds were wont to do; they hadn’t made their offering for aid.

So when Stjornuati’s words cut off and he rose to a bristling mess at the sound of another, Solpallur reacted similarly. Forget the throes of wanting rest, someone had come to encroach in the bastion they had found for the night. A snarl had turned up on his face as he swung around to face the other, only to find that this wolf stood taller than he. They were built similarly, and there was no doubt to Solpallur that a drengr stood before them.

This did not deter either of them, nor should it. It was two on one.

A low growl bubbled in his throat, but Stjornuati did the talking; Solpallur let his gaze linger, searching this drengr for weakness, for worth. His lips pulled back to bare his teeth—his words had best satisfy them.