we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
”No, I wasn’t,” Ronin agrees with a faint smile; he definitely hadn’t been a fan of Sunjata’s dreams when he had last been in them. He sits quietly and lets the Flood absorb the information, to try to remember as best he can. He’s patient, at least, and if Sunjata doesn’t want to talk about it - or indeed can’t recall it - then that’s perfectly fine as well. But as Jata does bring it up, he can’t help but flash a crooked grin in the other man’s direction, nodding.
”Quite a charmer, your old dad,” he says dryly. ”I certainly did yell at him, for pushing you off that bridge and being so delightful when I had words with him about it.” The huntsman’s blue eyes darken a bit, and he grumbles to himself. ”We did though, yeah. We made pancakes, and you showed me that cabin of yours. I met your sister.”
”Quite a charmer, your old dad,” he says dryly. ”I certainly did yell at him, for pushing you off that bridge and being so delightful when I had words with him about it.” The huntsman’s blue eyes darken a bit, and he grumbles to himself. ”We did though, yeah. We made pancakes, and you showed me that cabin of yours. I met your sister.”
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
