Malcolm is not the kind inclined to forget a face. Names, yes, those tend to slip through his fingers more often than he'd like, but once recollection sets in? Yes, this feels very familiar. The whistle gets his attention much like a dog pricking up its ears.

Though he's more of an archer, he certainly needs to keep sharp with a blade as well. He spins the practice sword around his hand once, twice, before setting the tip to the ground and leaning on the hilt. Not the worst excuse to catch his breath. "It could be argued that most people are," he suggests with a raise of his eyebrows. Perhaps deliberately not giving a smile.

"Couldn't sleep?"