"Child?" the Sparrow said incredulously. He hadn't been a child in years! No, he reminded himself, no, I'm still eighteen. And a small eighteen at that. "Look, I'm not sneaking around, lady. I'm looking for--"
"Ylva!" Alma called over to the woman, riding up. Lex watched for a while, not really listening, until a flicker of movement caught his eye. Dismounting, he followed after it. His pants were soaked and his boots nearly so by the time he caught up to the source and found a man leaning over the stag the woman had failed to shoot.
The Sparrow tilted his head as he padded over to him, putting a hand out, half to steady himself, half to get the man's attention. The next seconds were a flurry of motion as the man spun around and slashed at him with a knife and tomahawk. Lex dipped back away from the blades, digging his hookblade into the quiver on the man's back and rolling over him. He spun around, a little grin quirking up the edges of his lips. Why, he couldn't say, other than he felt an odd sense of fun in the moment.
A thought came to him then. Grinning a little more, he clicked his tongue. The man tilted his head, watching as he raised his hands and pinched his fingers together as if playing castonettes, clicking with his tongue again. The smaller Assassin moved forward. The man moved back, then rushed forward. The Sparrow, in turn, fell back. When he moved forward again, so did the man, throwing himself into a lunge. Lex dipped backward. His eyes widened as he saw the man's knife-holding hand moving to stab him in the back.
Reaching over his shoulder again, he rolled once more, turning to face him as the man turned as well, slashing with his knife. Lex knocked it aside as his foot sank through the crust of snow, eyes widening as his balance left him. A hand caught his arm, stopping his fall, the other arm seeming to wrap around him just as automatically. The two stood frozen, breathing heavily. Dark eyes stared into dark eyes from equally dark faces.
There's something familiar about him, but where...? The thought was gone, trailing off into nothingness as they looked up. Alma stood beside the one called Ylva, the dark haired, pale skinned one standing with her arms folded, the Floridian woman clapping slowly as if to dispel what his mind had been about to conjure up, saying, "Bravo, bravo."