and on to the glory at my right hand
There are blisters forming on his palms, and they feel good. The restlessness in his fingers and the creak of his jaw as it clenches feels good too, not that the Huntsman has realised he's doing such a thing. With the world continuing to warble around him, with sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down between his shoulderblades, the splash of the Stonesong is barely audible. And yet he still looks up - he's still drawn to look across the water, for reasons even he can't comprehend.
And there's his husband, on his knees and looking like hell. And that is certainly saying something, given how many times Remi and Ronin have looked like hell. But this is perhaps the worst state the Huntsman has seen him in, and it's enough to have the sander clattering to the ground, to have Ronin leaving his work to go and trudge into the riverbank from the opposite side. "Remi?" he calls as he wades towards the other man. "What's going on?"
And there's his husband, on his knees and looking like hell. And that is certainly saying something, given how many times Remi and Ronin have looked like hell. But this is perhaps the worst state the Huntsman has seen him in, and it's enough to have the sander clattering to the ground, to have Ronin leaving his work to go and trudge into the riverbank from the opposite side. "Remi?" he calls as he wades towards the other man. "What's going on?"
ronin
