"The only victory I care about is that the fire hasn't taken me today, and that seems pretty certain. Not that I'm just going to give in! Only don't break my arm. I saw that happen once, before," she says lightly. "A pair of drovers at my, at a tavern got competitive. But you're not drunk and I don't have much feeling in my hands anyway, so I'm sure it will be fine."

Hesri makes some arrangements and has to pause to distract a small child who's started crying for reasons of being very young and full of emotions and a lack of understanding how to regulate them. She's very patient with little kids, her cheerful, encouraging tone never slipping.

Usually the girls only get particularly into arm wrestling in the iciest, most appalling parts of winter, but they know what's required. They bring things out, mainly from the stables, none of it specifically made with this purpose in mind. Not that anything too specific is needed.

"How's this. Bring the back of my hand to the table in exactly ten seconds. If it's less, that doesn't count. If I make you take any longer, that counts as a victory." A controlled effort will probably be harder for him than just slamming her hand down.

Tiny Nerine, who's really no bigger than Vena, watches intently with her brow furrowed, and is promptly appointed to count down. "And be fair about it now!"

"I'm always fair," Nerine says darkly. She's still got some bruising on her face.