wonder what's next

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving It's strange, how things seem to stay the same even on the heels of large changes. For instance, becoming Commander of the Storm hasn't made the apartment above the alchemy shop Mateo's greenhouse any less dusty, and it hasn't cleared the rubble from the streets or rubbed a balm on people's hurts. And it hasn't made Ronin's bruises fade, either. So it's very gingerly indeed that the Huntsman spends the afternoon cleaning up the new living space, breathing it back to life and stocking the cupboards. At least then, when the sun sets and he wraps himself in blankets and flumps onto the couch, it will be to a frosted glass of whiskey. "Gods, I feel as though a horse has trampled all over me," he grumbles into the couch cushions. "Who made it a rule that you ache more a couple of days after you get hit?"