we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"An eight year old? Hey, that's old enough to hold a practice sword," Ronin remarks with a grin, which softens as he realises the implications of it all. "He will love you no matter how old he is," he says softly, knowing that much from experience and then some. (Sad, but true).
Rolling his shoulders, Ronin forces himself to focus on the matter at hand, though he imagines he and Phoebe could wile away the afternoon with tea (or wine) and good conversation. And his eyes widen at the sight of the brightly coloured shield, a grin flickering across his face. "Look how far we've come," he murmurs.
Darting forward, it's with the brute strength of his fists that he tries to break through the shield, and it's a lot stronger than he gives it credit. It's true, it does shatter and fall away on impact, but the Huntsman is left shaking out his hands and laughing. "Damn, Phoebe. Look at you go."
Rolling his shoulders, Ronin forces himself to focus on the matter at hand, though he imagines he and Phoebe could wile away the afternoon with tea (or wine) and good conversation. And his eyes widen at the sight of the brightly coloured shield, a grin flickering across his face. "Look how far we've come," he murmurs.
Darting forward, it's with the brute strength of his fists that he tries to break through the shield, and it's a lot stronger than he gives it credit. It's true, it does shatter and fall away on impact, but the Huntsman is left shaking out his hands and laughing. "Damn, Phoebe. Look at you go."
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
