Lord, you have so many names to remember already; you're scarcely excited to learn his and have one more to carry around.
Nothing against the gentleman, but at first blush you're inclined to get your task done and depart.
"Two flicks of a nag's tail and I'll be with you, friend," he says. He holds a sharpened stake in one hand that you only identify as an arrow when he places a cock's feather to the blunt ends and begins to twine it round with a sinew.
You hear Brute screech outside, just out of your view. You give a quick cough as you decide what to say.