In his hand, Altair stared at the small black box the size of a mug, but its weight was ill-proportioned to its size, weighing in at roughly a hundred pounds. He tossed it in the air, catching it with his other hand as though the weight didn't exist, and tossed it to Ren, who caught it.
"You keep it," Altair said when no one was looking from within the tent. She had been stronger and wasn't one to rely on speed like he had to.
"You there!" A fierce shout echoed outside their iron tent. "Yes, you. The one called Altair."
Alerted by this name, Altair peeped his head out to a valiant woman who wore a surcoat over her skin black as obsidian. She stood tall and fierce, as she was beautiful, with long braided hair that reached her shoulders.
A knight?' Altair thought. "Can I help you?" he said, calmly sensing her two circles alongside her incomplete one, nearly fifty percent filled by his estimation.