Only the Renshai maintained proper decorum, their demeanor professional and their competence unquestionable.The larger,Trygg, bore the classic blond hair, fair skin, and blue eyes that betrayed the Renshai's Northern origins. He carried more bulk than most of his kind, all of it muscle, though it seemed not to hinder the lightning refinement of Renshai maneuvers that relied on quickness and dexterity rather than strength. The smaller warrior fit the body image of Renshai better: thin and sinewy, fine-boned, his muscles totally defined but utterly lacking in bulk. Named Gunnhar, he had hazel eyes and sandy hair, hacked functionally short. Not a strand ever fell into his eyes. Each wore a sword at his hip, the leather of the sheaths and hilts smooth with use but without a hint of dirt or darkening. Renshai tended their swords with a fanaticism most men reserved for family.
Prince Arturo considered moving to ease the watchful burden from his escort, then decided against it.The Renshai probably appreciated the need for some attentiveness. Though he knew they would have preferred charging into an army, mowing down enemies like wheat stalks before a scythe to protect him, he supposed worrying over his position and mental state proved more interesting than staring at him while he read or groomed or slept.
Arturo blinked salt-rime from his brown eyes, then ran his hands over his coarse features and generous nose, glad he did not have to worry about his appearance on board. The hems of his blue-and-gold cloak had come undone in the drenching winds of the previous day, and his broad knees poked through tears in his britches. His thick, dark hair now lay in a thick, dark snarl. At the best of times, he barely resembled the massive, well-groomed bear of a man who was King Griff of Bearn.