The only thing in Samandriel's mind at that moment was getting home to Mitchell and perhaps never leaving the house again. "I told you," he said, trying to curb the fight in him, "my name is Samandriel."
Clearly holding eye contact here, born out of fear or not, wasn't helping his cause. He dropped his gaze to somewhere around the Spartan's chest. Whatever would get him home to Mitchell. Whatever would keep him alive. The memory of his brother's voice echoed in his head proclaiming him worthless, useless, and worst of all defenseless. "I yield, sir," he said, voice tight.