Taking hold of the spear was the only thing that Agrias could do. That made sense. With the expert hands only training and war could teach, the knight clasped a hand firmly around the shaft of the pole. Her eyes gazed across it's width. Ivalician, she thought. Familiar, though she would not have used it for battle. In the Fifty Years war and the War of the Lions, this standard would be used to mark the company, and establish maneuvers. To use it as a weapon would have been foolishness or the act of horrible desperation.

Holding tight, Agrias looked up to the tip of the spear -- for in her mind this was where the face ought to be, were she to believe it to have a face. "How are you able to speak to me?" She asked. "I see no mouth for which you would be able to do so, yet I hear you plain as the wind."