cinders and smoke

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving It would be a lie to say that the wind wasn’t somewhat knocked out of Ronin’s sails at receiving such a detached greeting; the alchemist hadn’t strayed far from his thoughts since stepping back through the Grounds portal. But he rallied himself and slowed his steps as they drew close, Ronin leaving Isla and Sugar to do whatever they were going to, more focused on his husband. Naturally he noticed the wounds first; a pattern of punctures that he tried to make sense of, not seeing yet the feathers lining the thing he didn’t recognise. ”What happened?” he asked; no judgement, mere curiosity at whether or not they would be fighting off thugs in the coming hours, or seeking vengeance. As for the temple? ”I helped to put the roof back up. It was a job.” He didn’t know if that conveyed it accurately; what he intended to say was that he hadn’t exactly been filled with divine purpose in doing it. ”What have you been doing here?” Now he saw the bloodied knees, the broken nails, Ronin sinking down to sit with Remi and talk properly.