Oliver's scars proved far more than he thought. His body was more scarred than a veteran's soldiers, but that was not all. The density of muscle about his small frame was something phenomenal as well. It was not wastefully big muscle, but everything was developed, defined, and hard.
The boy noticed the gazes of the women that turned away, Verdant saw, for he saw the boy's disapproval that followed his recognition. What he did not see was the faint swirlings of admiration that hung amongst the crowd as well. Few likely did, aside from Verdant, for all who felt such things kept their feelings carefully hidden.
The women admired the well-developed body of a warrior, and the men admired his scars.
Regardless of who, there was a truth unfolding, one that they dared not speak quite yet: the tales that had been told of Oliver Patrick, they were already beginning to believe them.