"Sure. Easier job than fightin' on a battlefield. Enough men with swords'll keep your usual bandits away, unless you get hit with real bad luck."

Yet, for whatever reason, he finds himself lured over by the jobs with more pain and misery and insufferable rich men. Greater rewards, maybe. Or perhaps he gets easily bored of the idea of babysitting a wagon instead of fighting.

"Is your friend looking for guards?"

His smile is gone, but he seems content to talk shop if she wanted. Midland's old civil war was staring to flare up again, that's what he'd heard. There'd be plenty of work for him by the time he gets there, for one side or the other. It wouldn't hurt to take an quieter job in between them.