He'd heard her entering, but the Ostlander hadn't expected her to run her finger along his back. He blinked, shuddering slightly because it tickled. Cyrdic couldn't help but laugh happily as she sat down next to him, shaking his head as she spoke. "You have it all figured out, eh?" he joked with her, setting his shield down and slipping his shirt over his hard, muscled torso. It was quite a contrast, the stark white linen on his sun-tanned features and dark hair. 

He caught himself looking at her when she stretched, and instead decided to fill his vision with the roast fowl. Admittedly, that was a pleasant sight in and of itself. He began to cut it and place food on their plates, speaking as he did so. "Herr Olden would just be glad we delivered it." Cyrdic replied, and tossed her a pomegranate lightly, giving her a wink. "He was a good man. We might not have known him long, but it was easy to tell." 

As they ate and drank their fill, the lowered sun completely went below the hills. Only the torches and the fire that blazed in the fireplace illuminated the room, though it was still plenty to see with. He had a bit of sausage in his cheek when he next spoke, giving him the comical likeness of a very rugged chipmunk. "Ulric knows there were a lot of good men at that Castle," he said with a stoic melancholy, and Cyrdic shook his head. "I'm just glad we found each other at the end. I don't think either of us would have lived if we hadn't." 

The mental image of Gildenhoof having captured Camilla was something he had to shake off, which led to him thinking about her washing his forehead in the basement. He guessed the two of them really were as 'thick as thieves,' an expression his well-read Quartermaster often used. 

When Cyrdic placed his mind on a decision, he bullrushed into it. This time was no different, for both of what he was about to do. "Next thing we do? Let's make sure it's a paying mercenary job." he said to her, and as he spoke he placed his utensils down and slipped his fingers around the thin string that rested on his neck, lifting the necklace off himself and placing it in Camilla's hands. It was his mother's necklace. 

"I want you to have that," he told her, his hands enclosed around hers. He'd told her along their travels what it was, but only in passing. "I know you'll take good care of it. You've taken good care of my hide, so far."
[@Penny]