Aldrich Abbott wasn’t exactly the last person Ber expected to see enter the courtyard at this time of the evening, but he was certainly one of the last people he wanted to see. From his position off to the side, the soldier had paused in his stretching when the glint of torchlight off of steel caught his attention, and he watched now as the newly promoted lieutenant - because, apparently, someone had to fill place of annoying lieutenants now that Woodwick had become captain - began swinging at one of the dummies. Well, that was fine. Abbott could stay over there and mind his own business, and Ber would get on with his own training after warming up.

The healers had told him to stretch the muscles in his shoulder before exercising, and years spent following the drills run by more experienced soldiers had made running laps - regrettably - routine. So that’s what he did. Admittedly, his reassignment to staff duty had been met with some trepidation, but he found that he didn’t actually mind training by himself. Apart from missing out on some group training, he didn’t think he was necessarily suffering for it either; after all, being removed from the official schedule didn’t mean he forgot everything that he’d picked up while he’d been on it.

Ber enjoyed the relative solitude and quiet of running his own practices, but the general lack of oversight was the greatest part. No one told him what to do or when or how fast to do it. Everyone in the courtyard at this time of day was here on their own time. That meant that when he saw officers like Abbott, who had started swinging his sword at a wooden dummy that had seen better days, Ber could simply run right by them. So that was what he did.

Once he actually started running, Ber didn’t really mind it. He found the even rhythm of his breathing and the steady thudding of feet on packed earth soothing, perhaps even somewhat meditative, in much the same way that swinging a sword was. Depending on the day, his thoughts could wander or his mind would become blissfully blank as he focused more on the physical demands of the exercise than whatever concerns plagued him. And because he now trained alone, he didn’t have to keep an ear out for any barked orders that would interrupt him.

In the end, the sound of splintering wood rather than a voice caught his attention, and Ber looked over to see Abbott breaking down the dummy. Bemused, the soldier slowed down to watch for a few moments - he didn’t remember learning that particular exercise during training - before he shook his head and carried on, back at a normal pace. After another handful of laps, he was back where he began, swallowing a couple sips of water from his canteen before grabbing his sword and heading off to find an intact dummy to practice with.

When it came from an officer, the sound of his name was not usually a precursor to anything good, so when Ber heard Abbott call out to him, he let out a long, quiet sigh and changed course accordingly. Sword in hand, he made his way over to the lieutenant at a pace that experience had shown him was slow enough to not subject himself to unnecessary time in the man’s company but fast enough to not be accused of dragging his feet. For a moment, the soldier very much considered using his shoulder as an excuse to avoid helping him put together a new dummy, but he already had a sword on his hip. If he could swing a sword, he could construct a target. While Abbott was many things, unobservant and stupid were unfortunately not among them.

Damn.

“Yes, sir,” He said as he drew near, obligingly falling into step beside the lieutenant when he turned away. Without the exercise to clear his mind, the creeping uneasiness and hyper-vigilance that had plagued him since the ball returned, and dark eyes glanced around the courtyard, peering into the shadows, as they walked toward the equipment shack. His mind had become particularly fond of seeing werewolves where there were none, where he knew there were none, but then who really knew what the shadows hid unless they went over to check?

Ber wasn’t that far gone, and with Abbott here, his pride would have prevented him from looking anyway. So he fell back on a different tactic that he’d learned could distract him from the prickling sensation of eyes on the back of his neck: talking. “Didn’t know any of you stayed here this late.” The soldier was, of course, referring to the officers, whom he assumed all had homes to return to at the end of the day in lieu of staying in the barracks like he did. Abbott was certainly old enough to have his own place. Just like he was old enough to not be affected by the curse.

They said ignorance was bliss, and Ber was blissfully ignorant of the extracurricular activities that had recently taken place in the equipment shack. Instead, he was preoccupied with what Abbott had said about rethinking training techniques. When men like Woodwick and Abbott put their heads together, it never boded well for those who had to train under them… which technically didn’t include Ber anymore. His lips twitched at the thought. Huh. Imagine that.

Ber couldn’t quite say he was happy about the thought of officers staying later to train, especially when it meant their time in the training yard would coincide with his, so he made a noise of acknowledgement and said nothing. As they worked together to move the dummy, Abbott filled the silence by asking about staff duty. “Uh,” Ber responded, not expecting the question. “Well, it’s not especially exciting…” He kept his tone neutral and ended the lackluster sentence with a shrug in lieu of any other revelations.

The lieutenant’s subsequent words had a somewhat self-conscious, somewhat amused exhale leaving him. Truth be told, he only vaguely remembered Abbott’s visit, for much of that first day had been spent drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Still, he nodded and said, “Thank you, sir. Doing a lot better now.” Not that it took much to do better than that.

Abbott taking apart the old dummy and putting together the new one reminded Ber of Terach doing something similar not too long ago. The man had constructed a sort of makeshift werewolf, which in turn had the soldier thinking - again - about werewolves, though this time, his thoughts took a slightly different turn. “Hey, sir, what happened after I got, uh, hurt at the ball?”

So the rumors were right: the King’s Witch had turned into a werewolf. Setting the dummy down, Ber looked over at Abbott, but the man didn’t seem to be lying or trying to pull one over him - nor could Ber think of a reason why he would. It wasn’t as if Abbott had any stake in whether people knew Alys Delaney was a werewolf, right? Still, the confirmation of that knowledge sparked a whole host of other questions, though he doubted Abbott had the answers to all of them. After all, how could one tell just from looking how a witch had become a werewolf?

Instead, he asked a different question. “Was she like other werewolves when she turned?” Absentmindedly, he scratched his right arm, where the scars from the werewolf’s claws lay hidden under his sleeve. “Do you think she would’ve been strong enough to stop him?” If he hadn’t turned back into his human form, which was a little odd, too, now that he thought about it. Ber wondered if another witch had somehow turned him back because he doubted that the one who unleashed him would have such a change of heart.

Abbott, apparently, had his own question, and the subject matter had Ber pausing for a moment. After his conversation with the captain commander, he suspected that the officers might be keeping an eye out to make sure that he actually stopped talking to Zevran, so he was leery of seeming too interested in matters relating to Dresmond - or at least, that particular Dresmondi. “I don’t know, sir,” He said honestly, thinking of the ominous description Usher had given him. “I don’t think anyone’s seen him since the ball.”

Word of Alys Delaney’s transformation still spread through the barracks with no small amount of confusion, shock, curiosity, and even some envy, but Abbott seemed entirely unsurprised and unconcerned about the King’s Witch suddenly revealing herself as a werewolf, which made Ber wonder if he’d known something the rest of them hadn’t. Was that what happened when one became an officer: suddenly they became privy to the kingdom’s secrets?

Still, something was a little confusing to Ber. “If the King’s Witch changed and attacked the werewolf, then how did the Huntsman and everyone else get injured?” And the kid, Wilson Barr, get killed. He didn’t know where the others had been, but both Alys and Regan had been standing near Ber and Wulfbrand when the latter had been turned. If Alys had turned into a werewolf, it wasn’t like she would have had to go far to physically subdue him. “I know— I know you don’t need to be attacking a werewolf to get hurt.” Obviously. He was his own example for that. “But even a werewolf would defend itself from an aggressor before attacking a bystander, right?”

Ber’s ignorance about what had happened to Zevran was met with a platitude, to which he offered a slight shrug. “Yeah,” He said, tone carefully neutral. “Probably.” Even if Ber didn’t know anything - or maybe because he didn’t know anything - about Zevran’s fate, his response seemed to appease the lieutenant. His suspicion that someone was watching for any sign of continuing split loyalties grew, something for him to think on as he helped Abbott carry the dummy outside.

That was fair, Ber supposed, accepting Abbott’s answer with a nod and silence as he helped the lieutenant with the dummy. Werewolves were hardly rational creatures - unless, apparently, one was the King’s Witch - so expecting them to follow any sort of logic was likely nothing more than an exercise in futility. With that dummy now set, Ber let out a quiet breath and glanced around before turning his gaze back to Abbott. “Will you need help with any other ones too, sir, or were you just fixing this one?”