and on to the glory at my right hand
Seren isn't the only one inspecting the tower this morning. Indeed, father and daughter look very alike indeed in their Snowcloak meanderings; thick coat, gloved hands shoved into deep pockets, a long scarf obscuring nose and mouth. Ronin finds himself in the Citadel quite by coincidence, drawn to the people after the stillness and desolation of Whitebrim. His work there is done, and work here there is aplenty.
The Huntsman will take up a shovel eventually, he is sure, but for now he wishes to see the damage done to the tower firsthand. Only as he straightens up does he notice a familiar figure not twenty feet away, his eyebrows raising to see her there. "Seren?" His feet take him towards her without the rest of his permission, Ronin already aiming to sweep his daughter up in a tight hug.
The Huntsman will take up a shovel eventually, he is sure, but for now he wishes to see the damage done to the tower firsthand. Only as he straightens up does he notice a familiar figure not twenty feet away, his eyebrows raising to see her there. "Seren?" His feet take him towards her without the rest of his permission, Ronin already aiming to sweep his daughter up in a tight hug.
ronin
