Lazar doesn't scare easy. Lacks whatever it is that takes a look at a bad situation, and says: Worry up. But he's got the sense to know when it's gone wrong, how to set down a fight he doesn't care to pick.

His outline ripples at the fence, gone briefly hazy as a sunrise; thinking how easy it'd be to be gone. It hasn't, the dream insists. Everything here, it's right on track,

So Lazar lifts a shaggy brow back at her, and turns.

"Ser Orlov," Gotta be a joke, that. With his money and a sword like some old chevalier. "Only riding the finest."