He hasn't really fought anything or anyone that could be considered a worthy opponent since he died. He thinks that perhaps he's gotten a little rusty, in the absence of such things.

Perhaps ambushing him would be the practical thing to do, but when it's just the two of them - sparring, nothing serious, he remembers - it seems pointless.

"I don't have all the time in the world," he says, as they stand in what was likely once an arena. Today, it fulfills its ancient purpose once more. "So you'd do well to make it count."

He holds a spear loosely in one hand. His old one had been broken in the fight that killed him; he hasn't gotten around to repairing it yet. Perhaps he doesn't need to.