Kimberly

“Who’s this Horace that I’m a match for?” he asked. Hal managed to keep a straight face as he replied. “He’s a one-legged, half-blind old beggar who suffers from uncontrollable flatulence.” “Flatulence? What’s that?” Stig asked. Words of more than two syllables sometimes confused him. “He farts,” Thorn put in. Stig thought about it, then nodded his head. “Yeah, well, I can do that.” Hal and Thorn both answered simultaneously. “We know.”
― John Flanagan, Scorpion Mountain

“We drew lots for the sleeping spaces,” he pointed out, striving to keep a reasonable tone. Ulf shrugged petulantly. “Well, if I’d known I was going to be so close to the door, I would have drawn a different one.” Hal gave up trying to be reasonable. He glared at Ulf. “Do you realize how abysmally stupid that statement is?” he demanded.”
― John Flanagan, The Invaders

“I’m surprised Barat let you take six of his men. That doesn’t sound like him. He has some very strange ideas when it comes to cooperation between allies.” Stig spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “No. He was fine with it. He didn’t say a word.” He paused, then he couldn’t stop a knowing grin from spreading across his face. “Actually, now I think of it, he did say a word. He said ‘Unngh!’” “‘Unngh’?” Thorn repeated, a puzzled look on his face. “When did he say that?” “It was just before he hit the sand,” Stig told him. Lydia cocked her head curiously. “When did he hit the sand?” Stig tried to look regretful and failed miserably. “That would have been right after I hit him.” There was a long silence, then the meaning of what he had said began to sink in. Slowly, the listeners began to laugh. Interestingly, the six Limmatans joined in. Thorn stepped forward and laid his left hand on Stig’s shoulder. “You know, Stig,” he said, “you have hidden depths, boy. Hidden depths.”
― John Flanagan, The Invaders

“Well, no offense,” he began, and Hal had a moment to reflect that whenever people began with “no offense” they invariably went on to be extremely offensive. “But what qualifies Thorn to train us? I mean . . . he’s Thorn, after all. No offense,” he repeated. Thorn smiled at him but the smile never reached his eyes. Hal turned to him. “Thorn, would you like to show Jesper how qualified you are?” Thorn appeared to think about the question. Then he moved with blinding speed, covering the ground between himself and Jesper. Jesper, a former thief, was accustomed to moving quickly when threatened. But he never had time to register that Thorn was moving. The old sea wolf’s left hand closed on Jesper’s collar in an iron grip and he hoisted the boy off his feet, holding him suspended, his feet dangling clear of the ground. Then he gathered himself and hurled Jesper away like a sack of potatoes. The boy flew several meters through the air, hit the ground and lost his footing, crashing over on his back. As he lay winded, he looked up into Thorn’s bearded face, a face wreathed in a fierce smile. “How’s that for qualifications?” Jesper nodded several times, and waved weakly in reply. “Tha’s pretty good,” he gasped breathlessly. “Pretty good indeed.”
― John Flanagan, The Invaders