we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
Ronin is just completing his checks of a rope wall when he spots a familiar face (if a lot less clothed than he's ever seen him before) wielding a spear on some of his fellow dragoons. Unable not to smile about it, the Huntsman releases the rope so he can land in a crouch at the bottom of the wall, straightening up and approaching the training area from the fringes.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he asks, his tone jovial, his smile audible in his voice. "Metaphorically speaking, anyway." Noah's built like a brick shithouse and while Ronin is carved from steel these days, he doesn't have the sheer bulk of the other man. "Never used a spear before though, so you'll have to teach me."
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he asks, his tone jovial, his smile audible in his voice. "Metaphorically speaking, anyway." Noah's built like a brick shithouse and while Ronin is carved from steel these days, he doesn't have the sheer bulk of the other man. "Never used a spear before though, so you'll have to teach me."
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
