He watched as she pulled her hammer and he felt a pang run across his chest. Watching her use the weapon with such ease reminded him of Weaver and her scythe. He didn't realize how the grief would bubble without warning for the woman. The wound his parents left in his chest was mostly scar tissue -- but it seemed that Weaver's was still healing. He shook it from him mentally, and reached out to the spear he had used before. It was true -- he was no master in combat. He understood how to fight to stay alive. His skills were gritty and as tenacious as the Fangs, but it was not an art form. He lacked refinement. While some other men might be offended by such a statement from their Warden, Noah was not. Of all the things he was, his humility was true. He knew this woman was stronger, faster, and more skilled than he was.
He hoped he could learn something.
Once he had his spear, he set to work. Moving towards the woman, he quickly jutted an end of the spear towards her by curling it up and out -- hoping to keep himself out of the reaching distance of her hammer.
