The beaches back in Atlas were nowhere near the quality of those sequestered to the boundaries of the Golden Ward. Comparatively harsh, icy, and unforgiving-- the contrast when held against fine and rolling sands that spilt out into a distant sea made for a far cry from home. That said, the General hadn’t exactly arrived here with the intention to reminisce; although the likelihood of being subject to those memories escalated by the moment, given shape and form by way of a familiar figure likewise perusing the boardwalk.
“Robyn Hill...I had little doubt that our paths would intersect at some point in time.” Sparing the woman a glance alongside his address, it was shortly that Ironwood turned his gaze back out to the sea. His posture remained surprisingly at ease where he stood, with an arm bearing his weight against the low fence that partitioned the wooden board pathway from golden sands.
Somehow, in spite of all that had happened, the alarms that had rallied him against all other familiar faces were quieted at present. Perhaps this was on account of Clover’s preparatory actions taken to forewarn the General of her presence-- after all, she was his roommate. Had he neglected to mention as much, this meeting might have easily taken on an infinitely more combative air.
“I trust your adjustments to this place have not been...severe.” --provided a few familiar faces, and a stalwart nature-- the Robyn Hill he knew of would no doubt adapt quickly, and with energy to spare for whatever turn this conversation would inevitably take. Just so, there was a part of him which was genuinely pleased to see her, despite heeding the delicacy of their homestead camaraderie; a conditional accord which now felt so very distant...
