[ Sylvain listens intently, absorbing the information Claude gives him. And occasionally reading between the lines of what Claude doesn't say. He recognizes that look on the other man's face, even if he's never seen it there on Claude in particular before. He's worn it himself, after all. His expression drops, darkens, grows a little grim the longer Claude talks and by the end, he's staring down into his ale, fingers wrapped tightly about the mug. ]

So there's a chance there could be others of us, in some of the other cities? That if this war comes to a head, we could find familiar faces on the other side of the battlefield? [ One of his deepest fears come to life, all over again. Something he struggles with every time he's stepped onto a battlefield of late.

He curses under his breath, deep and fervent, then chases it down with a deep swallow of ale. ]

I didn't like the sound of this before and I like it even less now. I wasn't in a rush to enlist - I prefer to know what I'm fighting for before I'd ever commit to such a thing. But they certainly made it sound like that was the only reason I was here. And considering I arrived with only the skin on my back, there's nothing to go back and retrieve either. I just didn't want to have them after me for desertion or some such bullshit if I didn't show back up before nightfall.

[ He fixes his gaze on Claude once more, curious. ] Is that what you do, then? Trade your services for room and board? Is there enough in this city to get by?