Ingvoldr grinned wickedly at the big Goth beneath her. Putting her mouth close to his ear she murmured softly with a voice full of promise. "Ah, my Goth, I assure you that all your weapons will be tested."

Sitting upright, the flaxen-haired horsewoman poked her companion playfully in the chest and laughed. "But for now, we must join in the fun."

"And..." she smiled as she got to her feet and stood looking down at Widimir, hands on hips, "test the first of your... weapons!"

Turning to the swarthy Dane, Ingvoldr looked him up and down, her eyes staring pointedly at the subject of discussion, then raising to meet his eyes.

"It's been my experience, sir," she said sweetly, "that it's only men with small tools who make such claims."

"Drink up, Dane," she laughed, "you'll need to be much drunker than you are now to win this contest!"