Minetta’s eyes, still stinging slightly from the sand, dart from your dropped sword to your apologetic face. Her breath comes in shaky gasps, her hand still hovering near her throat where your weapon had been. The sheer unexpectedness of your actions has thrown her completely off balance.

“You… you dropped it?” she whispers, her voice hoarse, laced with disbelief. She tentatively lowers her hand from her eyes, blinking rapidly as the lingering grit clears. She looks at the discarded sword, then back at you, her red eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit.

“Not your thing?” she echoes, a faint, incredulous laugh escaping her lips. “You… you took me by surprise, then you apologize? What kind of game are you playing now?”

She’s wary, her guard still up, but the fierce aggression has ebbed, replaced by a hesitant curiosity. The raw vulnerability she felt a moment ago has given way to a guarded confusion. She watches you, her head tilted, trying to decipher your motives.

“Dirty, you say? Sorry?” she muses, her voice still a little rough. “You really know how to turn a fight on its head, don’t you?” She shifts her weight, a subtle hint of respect, alien to her usual demeanor, entering her gaze. “Most would have pressed their advantage. Most would have… continued the fight.”

She doesn’t move to pick up her polearm, nor does she make any move to restrain you further. The immediate threat has passed, leaving behind a strange, uncertain quiet.

“So, you’re saying… no more fighting?” she asks, her tone still guarded, but with a hint of something softer beneath it. “And you’re… sorry about the sand?”

Minetta’s patience, which had been precariously balanced, snaps. The brief moment of contemplative quiet is shattered by your repeated insistence on the dog and the deeply unwelcome term of endearment. Her red eyes blaze with renewed frustration, the earlier flicker of respect extinguished by your stubborn refusal to grasp the situation.

"We are not going looking for your dog, and I am not your mother!" Her voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a honed blade. She takes a defensive step back, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. "This isn't about some lost pet. This is about you being a prisoner, and me being the one stuck watching you until you prove yourself."

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "You think a little sand in my eyes and a mumbled apology earns you a trip to the dog park? You have no idea how this world works, do you?" Her gaze is fierce, unwavering. "My tribe values strength, Remi. Not whining about lost pets. Not calling people names they aren't."

She lets out a sharp, exasperated sigh. "Look, you're free from your chains for now. That's more than you deserved. But don't push your luck. If you're going to stay out of that cell, you're going to have to show some actual usefulness, not just a talent for making my life difficult."

She turns away slightly, her gaze sweeping over the training grounds. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do than entertain your delusions. Don't wander off, and for the love of the spirits, stop calling me 'mother'."

Minetta’s head snaps back, her expression one of utter disbelief and mounting fury. The casual, almost resigned tone she’d adopted moments ago vanishes, replaced by a sharp, biting edge. “Are you serious right now?” she practically spits the words, her voice tight with suppressed rage.

Her arms, previously crossed in a display of guarded observation, now clench into fists at her sides. She takes a sharp, deliberate step towards you, her posture radiating an icy threat. “You’re not my mother. I’m not the mother of the dog. And no, you absolutely cannot go looking for ‘our child’ or whatever other nonsensical delusion you’ve conjured up.”

Her red eyes bore into yours, practically burning holes through your skull. “You think this is a game? You think you can just run around here, insult me, attack me, and then demand to go on some… pet-finding expedition?” She lets out a short, harsh laugh that holds no humor. “You are still a prisoner. A prisoner who somehow managed to barely scrape by in a fight. That’s it. That’s all you are.”

She gestures dismissively towards the vast training grounds, her expression one of utter contempt. “The dog is irrelevant. Your desires are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is proving yourself. And you’re doing a spectacular job of proving you’re nothing but a nuisance.”

She crosses her arms again, her gaze unwavering. “So, get it through your thick skull, Remi. No dog. No 'child'. And no more calling me anything other than your captor. Understand?”

Minetta’s sharp glare softens almost imperceptibly as you scan the surroundings, a genuine question replacing the bizarre and irritating demands. Her arms uncross, and she shifts her weight, a hint of the earlier, albeit guarded, respect returning to her expression.

"No fun?" she echoes, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. "You call that no fun? I'd say you're the one who wasn't having fun, trying to beg your way out of a fight." She shakes her head, a low chuckle escaping her. "But fine, if you're looking for 'personality'..."

Her red eyes sweep over the training grounds, a subtle gesture encompassing the rough-hewn village beyond. "People with personality are everywhere here, Remi. They're the ones who don't flinch when the steel clashes. They're the ones who've got fire in their belly and grit in their teeth."

She turns back to you, a spark of amusement in her gaze. "The village is full of them. Warriors who've seen more battles than you've had hot meals. Smiths who can hammer iron into submission with their bare hands. Hunters who know the wilderness better than their own reflections."

She gestures vaguely towards the path leading out of the immediate training area. "If you want to find them, just wander around. But don't expect them to coddle you like… well, like you seem to expect everyone to. They respect strength, not tears."

A small, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips. "And if you're really looking for someone with 'personality'," she adds, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer, "you might find them right here. Just don't expect me to be your mother."

She turns to pick up her polearm, giving it a casual, expert twirl. "Just try not to get yourself into too much trouble. I'd hate to have to drag you back here myself."

Minetta’s expression hardens as your words, "block of stones," "pebble on the road," and "disappointed look" register. The playful glint in her red eyes is replaced by a sharp, cold glint of offense. Her shoulders stiffen, and her mouth forms a thin, displeased line.

“Watch your tongue, Remi.” Her voice is low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the earlier, albeit sarcastic, amusement. “These ‘blocks of stones’ are the heart and soul of the Verdant Fang. They are warriors, survivors. They are my people.”

She takes a step towards you, the polearm held loosely but with an implicit threat. “If you think this is just some quaint village, you are more foolish than I initially gave you credit for. This is a place built on resilience, on strength forged through hardship. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

Her gaze flicks to the ground, then back to you, her expression a mixture of defiance and a deep-seated, almost weary, resignation regarding your continued fixation on the ‘child’ and the dog. “And as for your… ‘child’,” she says the word with a profound distaste, “if anything happens to it, you will apologize to me for being a colossal waste of my time and energy. Not the other way around.”

She sighs, a puff of exasperation. “Now, if you’re done with your philosophical musings on rocks and pebbles, perhaps you can start actually looking for something interesting. Or,” she adds, a dangerous glint returning to her eyes, “you can keep complaining, and I’ll find a much more… motivating way to make you productive.”

Minetta lets out a short, sharp bark of laughter, her shoulders shaking slightly. "A spoon? To dig your own grave?" she repeats, her voice laced with amusement. "You've got to be kidding me. Is that the best you can come up with? Boredom?"

She shakes her head, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Honestly, Remi, your capacity for melodrama is astounding. If you're that bored, perhaps you should try not being a prisoner. That might liven things up for you."

She taps the butt of her polearm against the packed earth, her gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of exasperation and something that might, might, be a sliver of grudging amusement. "Look, I'm not going to give you a spoon. The closest thing we have to 'graves' around here are dug with pickaxes, and frankly, you don't look like you've got the strength for that right now."

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a more serious, though still teasing, tone. "If you're so eager to die of boredom, that's your own problem. But if you don't want to die of boredom, perhaps you could try not being so utterly useless. There's always training, or chores... or, you know, actually talking to people with 'personality' instead of just complaining about them."

She offers a wry smile. "Or, you could always try to entertain me more. You're surprisingly good at that, even if it's mostly unintentional."

Her polearm, which she had been casually resting against the ground, is brought up and held more firmly. Her posture shifts, becoming more alert. "An idea, you say?" she repeats, a slight smirk returning to her lips. "Trying not to be a prisoner... I like the sound of that. Much more interesting than digging imaginary graves."

She takes a slow step towards you, her red eyes scanning your face with renewed intensity. "So, you're finally ready to stop playing the victim and actually try something? That's a step, Remi. A small one, but a step nonetheless."

She taps the butt of her polearm on the ground thoughtfully. "But 'trying' isn't exactly a guarantee, is it? You've shown you can be surprisingly resourceful when you're desperate. But the Verdant Fang isn't a place where 'trying' is enough. It's about doing. It's about earning."

A hint of challenge enters her voice. "So, tell me, Remi. How do you propose we 'try not being a prisoner'? Do you have a grand plan you've been keeping to yourself? Or are you just hoping I'll magically set you free because you're bored?"

She leans in slightly, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Because if you're looking for a way out, you'll need to be a lot more convincing than 'I liked that idea'."

Minetta’s breath hitches, and she recoils as if struck. The word “lord” delivered with such casual audacity, and then your audacious ‘solution’ – it’s a level of insolence she hasn’t encountered in a long time. Her grip on the polearm tightens, knuckles whitening.

“Are you utterly insane?!” Her voice is a low, venomous hiss, each word dripping with disbelief and fury. “You think you can just… declare yourself not a prisoner? You think I, a warrior of the Verdant Fang, would simply lie to my own people? To my father?”

She throws her head back, a harsh, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. “That’s not ‘easy,’ Remi. That’s stupidity. That’s practically begging to be executed for treason and insubordination.”

Her red eyes bore into yours, blazing with a cold, hard fury. “You want to be free? You think that is the way? You are truly pathetic. My father values strength, not… lies and manipulation!” She punctuates this last word with a sharp jab of her polearm towards the ground near your feet, making you flinch.

“You have insulted me, attacked me, and now you insult my entire tribe and my family with your ridiculous propositions!” Her voice rises, laced with pure, unadulterated anger. “You think you can just walk away? After all that? You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

She takes a step back, her eyes scanning the training grounds with renewed intensity, as if searching for a more permanent solution to your presence. Her expression is grim, all traces of amusement gone, replaced by the cold resolve of a warrior who’s just encountered an entirely new level of defiance.

“You want to not be a prisoner? Then you will earn it. Not with words, not with pathetic pleas, and certainly not with the insane idea of me lying for you.”

Minetta’s breath hitches, and a guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a snarl, escapes her. The word "wife" is like a brand on her skin, igniting a volatile rage that burns fiercely in her crimson eyes. "Pleading?" she spits the word, her voice tight with fury. "You call that pleading? You call this reasonable?"

She slams the butt of her polearm onto the ground with a resounding thud, the force of the impact sending vibrations through the earth. "I am not your wife! I am not the mother of your imaginary dog! And I am certainly not going to be reasonable about your insane delusions!"

Her posture is rigid, every muscle coiled with anger. She takes a menacing step forward, her gaze fixed on you, radiating an intimidating aura. "You think this is how you convince a warrior of the Verdant Fang? By throwing around ridiculous titles and talking about lost pets? You are an embarrassment."

The insult, coupled with the audacity of your claims, seems to push her over the edge. Her expression shifts, the raw fury hardening into a cold, calculated decision. The playful, even antagonistic, tone of moments ago is completely extinguished. It's replaced by the chilling demeanor of a warrior who has decided to deal with a problem in the most direct way possible.

"You know what, Remi?" Her voice drops to a chilling, low tone, each word carefully chosen for maximum impact. "You want to be free? You want to stop being a prisoner? Fine. You want to prove you're not a waste of my time? Then we'll do it the Verdant Fang way."

She slowly begins to circle you, her movements fluid and predatory, the polearm held with a practiced, deadly grace. Her red eyes, like twin embers, never leave yours. "A trial by combat. You win, you walk. You lose..." A cruel smile touches her lips, a stark contrast to the fire in her eyes. "...well, let's just say you'll have plenty of time to reflect on your life choices in a very deep, very permanent hole."

She stops, facing you directly, the polearm now pointed at your chest. "So, Remi. Do you accept the trial? Or are you just going to stand there and bore me to death?"

Minetta throws her head back, a short, sharp bark of laughter escaping her. “Respect my culture?” she echoes, the words dripping with incredulity. “You insult my people, you demand impossible things, you call me ‘wife’ and talk about dogs like a lunatic, and I’m the one disrespecting your culture?”

She lowers her gaze, her red eyes narrowing as she takes you in. “My culture values strength, Remi. It values directness. It values proving oneself. It does not value… whatever it is you’re doing right now.”

She takes a step forward, her expression hardening. “You haven’t shown me an ounce of respect for my ways. You’ve shown me defiance, absurdity, and a complete lack of understanding of what it means to be a part of the Verdant Fang.”

She gestures around the training grounds with her polearm, a hint of pride mixed with her frustration. “This is who we are. We fight. We endure. We don’t whine about dogs or pretend our captors are our family. If you want to understand our culture, start by understanding that.”

Her gaze sharpens again, the challenge in her eyes returning. “And if you want to be treated with anything remotely resembling respect, you need to stop being… you. Unless, of course, you want to remain a prisoner, and continue boring me to death with your nonsense.”

Minetta’s jaw hangs slightly agape as your words sink in. The sharp, defensive posture she’d adopted slowly relaxes, though her grip on the polearm remains firm. She tilts her head, her red eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher if you’re truly serious, or if this is yet another elaborate, bizarre prank.

“You… you thought I was your wife because… because of a cultural tradition?” she asks, her voice softer now, laced with genuine bewilderment. The raw anger seems to have been replaced by a bewildered curiosity. “In your culture, the winner… declares the loser their spouse?”

She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh, a genuine, albeit surprised, sound. “Well, that’s… certainly a unique interpretation of ‘respecting my culture’.” Her gaze drifts down to the polearm in her hands, then back to you. “I suppose… that explains the ‘mother’ and the ‘dog’ obsession.”

A faint, almost hesitant smile touches her lips. “While I appreciate the… unexpected cultural insight, Remi, you have to understand. That is not how things work here.” Her gaze turns serious again, though the intense anger has subsided. “The Verdant Fang… our traditions are different. Winning a fight doesn’t mean claiming someone. It means proving your strength, your worth.”

She shakes her head, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “So, while I’m… intrigued by your customs, you can’t just apply them to me. Especially not when I’m your guard, and you’re a prisoner.” She pauses, her expression becoming more introspective. “It seems we have a rather large cultural gap to bridge, don't we?”

Minetta’s lips twitch, a small, almost involuntary smile playing on them. She shakes her head, a soft sigh escaping her. "Respect you the respect of letting you call me 'wife' without being a wife?" she repeats, the words tasting strange on her tongue. "Remi, that's like asking a wolf to let you call it a sheep."

She leans on her polearm, her gaze steady on yours, a hint of playful challenge returning to her eyes. "My name is Minetta. I am a warrior of the Verdant Fang. I am your guard, for now. 'Wife' is... a very specific and very untrue title."

She pauses, considering your request with a thoughtful frown. "You want to show respect for my... ways?" she asks, a subtle emphasis on the word 'ways'. "Then perhaps you should try respecting my actual name. Or perhaps, instead of trying to force a title onto me that doesn't fit, you could try to understand why it doesn't fit."

She lets out another soft sigh, a hint of the burden she carries evident in the gesture. "But if you insist on using that word..." she trails off, her gaze sweeping over the training grounds as if contemplating a particularly difficult maneuver. "...then you'll have to understand that it means absolutely nothing to me in that context. It’s just a sound. A meaningless sound you’re making."

Her red eyes meet yours again, a glimmer of something unreadable in their depths. "So, you can call me 'wife' if it helps you feel better, Remi. But don't expect me to respond to it. Don't expect it to change anything. It’s just… a word you’re allowed to say. And frankly," she adds, a faint, wry smile returning, "it's more entertaining than your complaints about boredom."

Minetta’s crimson eyes track your every move as you begin to walk in a random direction, the word "wife" still hanging in the air, though it no longer sparks the same fiery outrage. Instead, a weary indulgence seems to settle over her features. She shakes her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips.

"Just 'wife,' then?" she mutters, more to herself than to you, before pushing off the ground with her polearm. "Fine. As long as you understand it's just a word, Remi. A very, very inaccurate word."

She falls into step beside you, her gait fluid and economical, her polearm held loosely but ready. Her red eyes sweep the immediate surroundings, cataloging the rugged terrain, the distant figures practicing, the imposing cliffs.

"Trying to find something interesting, are we?" she asks, her voice carrying a hint of its former teasing tone. "Just remember, 'interesting' in the Verdant Fang usually involves a bit of grit, a bit of sweat, and a fair amount of danger. Don't come crying to me if you find something too interesting."

She glances at you, a speculative glint in her eyes. "So, where are we heading with this… 'wife-approved' exploration?"