When: Shortly after the attack Where: Ruins of Glasswater Keep Who: @theodorestoneward
The flight back to Glasswater - or, whatever remained of the Keep, following the rebel assault - was a more laborious stretch than it should’ve been, not solely for the still fresh marks marring his torso and the gentle constriction of his chest - but for the notable absence of that familiar weight upon his back, the knowledge of his rider sound and safe back at the refugee camp only a slight comfort.
Every so often he’d sense a sudden jolt through their bond and get caught on the possibility that Sorin’s finally awoken, that he was an idiot to stray away too far not to be there when it happened, only to feel that ever so heavy dullness of sleep still lingering at the back of his mind and his excited relief quickly diminished.
He’d gotten restless, doing nothing but waiting and fruitlessly trying to catch any decent rest himself for the incessant worry. He needed to occupy himself with -- something, and despite the manner of his own injuries effectively rendering any sort of lengthy excursion inadvisable at best, there hadn’t really been anyone around with the care or authority to stop him.
So. There he was. Standing alone in the rubble of an broken city.
Or, mostly alone, save the hushed voices drawing steadily nearer.