Dismay stunned him as she rounded away, drawing steel. All at once, he went to his knees, and drove the point of his sword into the thin soil. One hand gripped its pommel tightly.

Wren would not understand the significance of this; in Lothric, it was the image of a prostrated knight, but moments before cutting his own throat on the edge of his blade. But she would, at least, understand that he had become harmless.

"I am Gaultier de la Guerre! Prithee, sir, stay thy blade; I would not wish ill upon a brave comrade."

To emphasize the fervor of this request, he used his free hand to tip up the top of his visor, and let her see his eyes.