[ It means almost too much to him, is the thing. It means enough that maybe Flynn will cling to those words later, alone in the darkness of his room when he's swinging a stick and trying to remember how to make it dangerous. That he is free to re-learn those skills— that just because he can't use a sword doesn't mean it's a permanent state, that the lack of it doesn't have to define him— it means everything.

He clings to them, a little selfishly and a little desperately, and swallows back the part of him that wants to ask this perfect stranger are you sure and how do you know and can you teach me.

It isn't the time. He can be useful now, in other ways, and so his back straightens up and his stance evens out and he says, like a military report, ]

They're varied. That's part of the problem: it's impossible to predict from month to month what the next threat will be. At first, we were simply threatened by creatures under sheets and a vague sense of dread, but it has escalated. Last month, there were... versions of everyone in town, like seeing a copy of yourself. Those copies were trying very hard to kill us. Not having a weapon made it very... difficult. To survive.