Once again, she spit out dust from her mouth. Once again, she challenged a mighty warrior from her tribe and fell, defeated. Some younger warriors called her a fool, reaching out to fast to a level she could not attain. Some of the elder warriors watched, knowing that each defeat brought more knowledge, more skill at arms. Yet, even they thought her overly rash and presuming in her challenges. Yet, never had the Belgae bowed down or known fear against greater opponents. Some of the greybeards remembered when they were only hot-blooded youths and challenged their betters.

Standing up, still a bit unsteadily, Cat went to see the armourer, already groaning seeing the state of her weapons and armor. Cat went groaning herself, when she saw the elder from her village coming to once again "advice" her in investing more in development of her fief then in her own armory. She knew the old dodger was right, but every silver going to the village would not contribute to her future glory. Or maybe, just maybe, it would ?