There is no escaping the mass of people taking those few precious moments of comfort to eat what they can between those long stretches of boredom and drudgery interspaced with chaotic danger. So, Iken doesn’t even try to and instead the hulking young man just grabs his bowl of thin, barely watered down oats and finds the nearest unoccupied spot among the other unwashed, armored bodies. With danger barely more than a stone's throw away, and having already spent far too long here, most seemingly have given up on the smaller things that herald civilization. Such as washing, shaving, formality, or manners. Head down, the Tessouare doesn’t bother to look up from his food as he instead picks through with a wooden spoon in an attempt to partition away some of the more unappealingly green colored chunks.
The clatter of another bowl hitting the table opposite him causes a slow tilt of the head, and an obvious smile to spread the split on his lips even further.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the line?” The young Tessouare’s voice cuts through the chatter of the mess, his question directed to the man opposite him.
“I am but won’t catch me out there without your fat ass to hide behind.” The words spill out from the brown-haired Irzali, barely a break in them as he shovels his own meal into his mouth with just a hint of a smile. “And don’t you get tired of having the shits from eating that stuff? Aren’t all those oats green by now?”
Pausing in his hurry to reach the bottom of his bowl, the Irzali brandishes his fork with an unidentified lump of meat at the end while saying, “Try the rat! Least it takes a little longer to come back out.”
Iken can’t help but chuckle at the man’s words, shaking his head just a little as he offers a word of warning, “Just eat, and get back out there. Nothing is planned for tonight, but if the Captain finds you here...”
“He won’t do anything,” snaps the Irzali. “Eight months in, he’ll just count himself lucky I’m still here. Let the Lions stand watch overnight, they're the ones here for their honor.”
The Tessouare makes no attempt to silence his companion’s frustration, instead just letting gaze follow out from over his shoulder to look beyond the entrance into the tent. Out beyond the camp inevitably turning squalid, the fortified ring of earthworks, and up the rocky outcrop where the imposing fortress sat at the head of the valley.
“Just finish your food, and we’ll both go back. I wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway.” The large Tessouare raps his spoon at the bottom of his empty bowl. “Going to be running to the latrine too much.”
Laughing with his mouth full of rat, the Irzali doesn’t even finish his own food while springing to his feet. “Just make sure you do it in one downwind! One of those Lions in the next section keeps looking over. If she decides to visit, don’t want to be smelling your guts.”
“Probably wondering if you’re worth loading into one of the catapults, as you aren’t much good for anything else.” Iken offers in a quick retort, gathering up his bowl to return while finding his feet. “Be there, need to visit the tent first.”
“I, of the noble, slow and tarnished, will be at my post.”
Before Iken can even offer any admonishment at his companion’s words, there is an abrupt shove to the steel breastplate at his back and he almost stumbles. The man’s right-hand twitches, leather and steel-clad fingers drumming away at his thigh as the full weight of time, fatigue, and the bulk of his armor coalesce in an instant to almost bring the Tessouare down. Fighting through it all to pull himself back to his full height, he turns to find a panicked looking sailor attempting to stammer an apology.
A barely audible grunt of annoyance barely passes between the old Tessouare’s lips. Without any attempt to even listen to the poor man, Iken’s right-hand reaches for the large greathelm left at the table where he enjoyed his gruel and returns back to his mask of sanctuary.