Vilon's hand jumped to the hilt of his sword the instant the voice came through, his knuckles tightened around the grip as the familiar, grim rattle of steel rang out.
But just as quickly, his hand relaxed, unclenching in the brief heartbeat it took his eyes to register the grey wolf's pelt draped heavy over the stranger's iron-clad shoulders.
To Vilon's relief, a quick glance back showed that Owen had disarmed himself just as fast upon sighting the man's armor.
In fact, the boy did more than that, and seemed downright thrilled at the encounter. One would have thought him a starry-eyed child by the way he blurted out his next words, his voice squeaking with sudden realization.
"A Crown's Hound!"
Fortunately, the exclamation seemed to amuse the soldier. He gave no hint of anger at Vilon's initial, defensive twitch toward his blade.
