"Goblins don't sleep," he replied, running a whetstone along a short blade. Shhk. Shhk. "They wait. They watch. If I sleep too deeply, they win."
He sat on a wooden bench—not praying, but checking his gear. A spare leather strap for his cuirass. A pouch of salt. A small clay vial of oil. His helmet rested beside him, revealing short, ashen hair and tired, watchful eyes.
"Arlen?"
A long silence stretched between them. Outside, a cart creaked past, and a child laughed.
"...You think goblins?"
She smiled, though sadness tugged at the corner of her lips. "And here I thought you came to check on the sewers again."
"Sword Maiden."
Sword Maiden tilted her head. "You noticed that? During the five minutes you watched him train?"