FLORidA is one hell of a drug

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving "Mmmh?" Ronin's response is, naturally, given around his attempt at tackling Flora's cucumber sandwich. So sue him, the Knight has ferried this little rowboat out here as a leviathan until the point where they could paddle across the impressive (albeit terrifying) expanse of The Maw, enjoying the relative stillness on the water. It's hungry work. Managing a bite and quickly rethinking his attempt to eat it, he settles back in his seat while his duplicate dutifully rows them at his back. "As long as it's not to do with what I just did. I won't be taking questions about that," he says, gesturing at the sandwich and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Otherwise, of course. I'm all ears." He smiles. Lightly tanned from the lingering heat of the past two seasons, with his dark hair drying and his companion free-wheeling overhead, the weight that's been lifted from Ronin since his change of allegiance almost seems like a physical thing.