[PQ] rub some dirt in it

Are

The pat and smile did little to soothe the helpless feeling growing in the cobbler's chest. A tight not in his gut telling him that it all was a far cry from the kind of 'right' he knew. As history repeated itself, his history. One of a slowly shrinking noose around a pagan neck, gasping for what little fresh air remained as tyrants where allowed to spread the suffocating miasma of subjugation across the lands. He wanted to scream, to fight, to brashly rise up and strike with his new-found strength, but Ronin's words left a bitter aftertaste of defeat. Defeat in a war not even started.

In silence he followed the guildmaster back and grabbed himself a sturdy hoe and with just a nod got to busy his mind with something other than thoughts of rebellion.