Dame Sybyll Hanrahan emerged from her tent mere minutes after the last rays of sunlight faded away. Behind her, like a crimson shadow, Cossot followed at a respectful distance, carrying the only piece of Sybyll's famed crimson armor that her lady hadn't donned.
The helm Cossot carried, with a visage shaped like a grinning vampire's skull, weighed as much as a sack of grain, but after weeks of following Dame Sybyll's demanding training regime, Cossot had slowly become accustomed to the weight, just as she'd become accustomed to the crimson gambeson that had replaced her usual dresses and the light arming sword that rode at her hip everywhere she went.
"Yer gettin' better wit' tha' buckles, lass," Sybyll praised, flexing her right arm and inspecting the fit of her vambraces and intricately articulated gauntlets. "Keep goin' at this rate and ye'll be up ta' fittin' me tassets and cuisses in a month's time."
