James was going over Durendal's edge with a stone when Finn sat down on the crate beside him and laid both axes across his knees.
"Did you sleep?"
"Not much."
"No. Me neither." Finn tested an edge with his thumb. "Though you've had the worse day. I'll give you that one."
"That's big of you."
"I'm a generous man."
The stitches had come out of his hand that afternoon. He flexed it round the haft of the second axe, winced, and did it again.
He didn't ask about Dublin, and he didn't look at James's face too long. James went on with the stone.
Two trucks down, Declan had his right gauntlet on and was opening and closing the fist.
"New rivet," he said. "Steel. The armourer says it'll outlast me."
"See that it lasts till we get there," said Niamh. She was buckling a greave and didn't look up. "Don't be testing it on that truck."
"What use is it if I can't hit anything with it?"
"None. So hit something British."
