we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"Oh, gods no," Ronin agrees with a bark of laughter. "I was hard headed as they come. Still am, just a little more cheerful about it." His grin fades into the steady warmth of Remi's kiss, the shield of his wings blocking out the roar of the sea, the billowing smoke, the heat of the sun, until it's just the two of them and that gentle but persistent kernel of hope that the Knight can't help but latch onto.
"I feel like you're wondering less about the past and more about the future," he hazards gently. It's not a conversation they've had for a long time - and the last one had been cut with grief and guilt on Ronin's side, especially given the state of the world at the time. "And not Isla's future," he adds, thumb brushing across the scruff of Remi's cheek. "Talk to me."
"I feel like you're wondering less about the past and more about the future," he hazards gently. It's not a conversation they've had for a long time - and the last one had been cut with grief and guilt on Ronin's side, especially given the state of the world at the time. "And not Isla's future," he adds, thumb brushing across the scruff of Remi's cheek. "Talk to me."
THE WHITE KNIGHT
and continue fighting
