“Ah, yes, i remember now! Primus inter pares! First among equals!” Erroe took a step back, laughing at the sky. “Do you dislike that name, Guardian human? It rolls off the tongue so much-” Her attention was diverted as she caught sight of Mikeal, drenched to the skin. “I guess you don't need a shower now, do you, Mikeal?” she understood the same of herself, but paid the fact no heed. “Oh, yeah!” reminded of the moisture hanging in the air, she hurriedly unsheathed her blade, careful not to pass over the edges, and examined it for rust. Satisfied, Erroe strode to a fallen branch, green with sap, and ran it through, temporarily protecting the sword. “scared myself, there!” she said, smiling at the others. ((another swing...))