Malk was walking in a way particular to young bravos, but perfected nowhere so well as in the Galtish lands of Holt. There’s a way a blacktongue tough sometimes walks, each step a small kick, so that the torso sways just a little. The word swagger nearly embraces that walk, but misses an element of boredom, mischief, a hope for something out of the ordinary to please happen whatever the cost.
