His face screws up into something blatantly confused; half of what this man says is as foreign to him as parts of that fucking pamphlet earlier. Twenty-first century, gun. The fuck is a gun? A weapon of some sort, he's assuming — maybe like a bow, if it involves shooting.
Never even held a sword. The fuck's he even any good for, then? Man of his size ought to know how to actually do something with all that mass, and it's being wasted on a bloody hand-axe.
The daggers are at least an improvement. Still a woman's weapon.
At any rate, the thick of it is no time for conversation. The two of them work in near proximity, if for no other reason than the logical advantage it provides. Having someone at your back means you're not likely to get flanked from behind; they can take out any beasts that get too close to the other from their sides, out of eye shot. It's an efficient system, and as a former soldier, he reluctantly admits to appreciating that. Been a long time since he's fought anything but solo.
And, frankly, he'd feel a lot better if the man had a real weapon.
When finally the bloodshed calms and the last of the rampaging beasts are felled, Sandor lowers his weapon, panting.
After he catches his breath, at length, he gestures absently to Wrench with the flat of his blade.
no subject
Never even held a sword. The fuck's he even any good for, then? Man of his size ought to know how to actually do something with all that mass, and it's being wasted on a bloody hand-axe.
The daggers are at least an improvement. Still a woman's weapon.
At any rate, the thick of it is no time for conversation. The two of them work in near proximity, if for no other reason than the logical advantage it provides. Having someone at your back means you're not likely to get flanked from behind; they can take out any beasts that get too close to the other from their sides, out of eye shot. It's an efficient system, and as a former soldier, he reluctantly admits to appreciating that. Been a long time since he's fought anything but solo.
And, frankly, he'd feel a lot better if the man had a real weapon.
When finally the bloodshed calms and the last of the rampaging beasts are felled, Sandor lowers his weapon, panting.
After he catches his breath, at length, he gestures absently to Wrench with the flat of his blade.