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‘Look, Uncle,’ said Skald, his moment of good cheer fading. ‘In all seriousness . . . I . . . and I think we all . . . want to see you with enough protection to keep your head on your shoulders should the Orcs have at us with those nasty blades of theirs. I know I’ll be wearing my helmet and a sleeved shirt of light mail over a woolly vest. And I’ll tie my thick leather vest over it. My small shield . . . the one you made me covered in bronze; it’ll be with me. I’m putting leather protectors on my lower legs, too. They’re fierce beasties, the Orcs – they’ll cut you anywhere they can.’ He raised his thick brows at Orin. ‘You know if you don’t promise to wear something to our liking, we’ll stand round you in battle like two-legged pieces of armor!’
Skald grinned impishly at the threat, then tried another tack. ‘Can’t have you getting injured or worse yet killed! Whose gonna stand with me when I finally find and marry my heart’s delight?’
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