Zephyra cleared her throat with an exaggerated gesture, from the shadows near the hearth table, breaking the lingering, charged air between them.
Reaching behind the low wooden chest beside the hearth, she picked up a heavy, leather-wrapped bundle resting against the stone mantle.
"If you two are quite finished being chummy," Zephyra said dryly, turning toward them with an amused smirk pulling at her mouth, "here is your blade. I had a scout salvage it out of the jungle where it was carelessly tossed aside without a care. I only hope you didn't leave your wits behind in that clearing along with your trousers."
She extended both hands, offering the blade.
Even wrapped in treated hide, the blade gave off a cold, muted hum. The weapon had drunk deeply of Layer 4 warlord blood on the battlefield, and its sapphire-tinted edge seemed to buzz with residual slaughter, an eager, bloodthirsty counterweight to the fragrant cedar smoke lingering in the hall.
