Hild was unfamiliar with whatever feather staffs were, though she assumed, safely she thought, that they were not simply staffs with feathers attached to them. Warriors liked to be showy and bold in battle, but they also liked to live and feathers could not help them with that.

Her brows drew together at the mention of guisarme, something about it familiar, the shape of his tongue around the syllables perhaps.

"A family weapon is a thing to have pride in," she said agreeably. If her father had a sword, a spear, a shield that he loved, Hild did not know if it. It had not served him very well, even if he had. "It is lucky you keep it with you. Maybe you are here long enough, it goes to your son."