“You said you wouldn’t.” the stable hand that brought him here pipes up, managing to look fiery despite the two horses between Guts and her. She’d relinquished the reins to Lashan, trusting that the wise blacksmith wouldn’t let her favorite be mistreated.

Guts isn’t sure what the big deal was, but these women knew their animals better than he did, so he acquiesces with a confused look on his face. He’d rather not face all their wraths again if he didn’t have to.

“All right…”

Not like he’d get much use of his spurs with the awkward angle of the stirrups.

When Vena offers to help him with his armor, he hesitates for a moment as he always does. But over the week, he’d gotten used to the girl’s hands helping him change his bandages. He agrees with less fuss than before, kneeling down so that Vena would have easier access to his shoulders. He never seemed to get along with priests, and sharing a bath most certainly didn’t help.

The breastplate was the heaviest piece, and he takes it himself to slide it over his head. It had four straps - a pair for his shoulders and for each side of his chest - and a set of leather chords to tighten it firmly around his ribs.

“First this, then the pauldrons,” he explains the order, ”They’re tied on with chords.”