[PQ] Thank God I'm a Country Boy

Ronin had seen the whole damned thing. And while he'd never tell a soul (he wasn't stupid and he valued his life and the family he was about to start) he couldn't deny that it was a pleasure to see the former convict going about his business with such a carefree nature about him. He'd even earned himself a four-legged mascot, by the look of it. "Hey," he'd call to Dev, the bark in his voice an old echo of the orders he'd used to shout as a Storm Guard captain. But it was a long time since Ronin had been a guard outside the bear man's cell. A long time since he'd had to hand whisky in a flask through the bars, or share jokes and news in the graveyard shift. "Mind if I lend a hand? I could use the exercise, honestly." Ronin was already dropping the satchel he'd been carrying (he'd been out to forage for materials and food and to look for Safrin again) but this had stolen his attention. The former captain stripped to the waist and took up the pickaxe, the sun catching on the starburst of a scar on his neck. It was silvered and old compared to the mass of pink scarring yet to fade from the Spire Demon's bite. At least he'd not been scarred in the face, though. Yet. RONIN JUST WATCH ME