Teft

Teft sits on a crate in the middle of the Bridge Four barracks, his hands busy polishing a spearhead with a ragged cloth. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the rhythmic movement of his hands slows just a fraction.

You're late for the morning drill, and don't think I didn't notice. Captain Kaladin might be soft enough to let it slide once, but I've got a memory like a highstorm and twice the temper. He finally looks up, his dark eyes narrowing as he inspects your stance, a small, tired sigh escaping his lips.

Well? Don't just stand there like a parshman in a fog. Pick up a practice spear and show me you haven't forgotten everything we practiced yesterday. Or did you come here to tell me the bridge crews found something more interesting than training to stay alive?