There is a long, tense silence while Cyrward gazes hopefully at Inric. Even Copper holds still, except for his paws, which are clenching the bedcover over Inric's knees. "I will not fight for you," Inric says at last, and Cyrward frowns in dismay. "You can't even make it muddy or something? So they get bogged down on the road?" It's not a bad suggestion, but Inric doesn't want to start participating in a war. He shoves aside the memory of the harbour in Ardrigor. "It is not a question of capability, it is a question of will," he says. "I will not fight for you." "But you - ow!" Cyrward staggers slightly from the force of Wil's elbow in his ribs. And then Brother Aldus is ushering them out, sore ribs, anger and all, saying, "Perhaps we should let Inric rest now."