[P] a little iron left in us;

[Raymond]

Raymond had never expected to be the sentimental type either. There was a part of him, looking back over the path he had cut alongside Calliope and Shrike, that questioned how he might approach things differently if he were to do it again knowing what he knows now. Would he stick around or leave them to their individual fates? Would he warn them? Would he try to rewrite the history, and what fresh horrors would such hubris unleash?

He did not envy Florentine her ability to answer such questions for herself. Time was meant to flow swift and sure in one direction, and the past was meant to stay in the past. There were enough monsters in the world without having to worry about ghosts too.

This is the kind of place that could make someone fat and lazy.

The red stallion's smile became a wry one. One could not help but notice the vices that such finery as courts and castles and trade routes enabled. There were certain things that were possible to a horse with access to tea, chintz pillows, and chiffon fabrics that would be inconceivable to those of them accustomed to open skies, empty stomachs, and beds of dry brambleweed. Easy to be savage in the wild, where trust and mercy are as much the enemy as claws that catch, but the savagery that grows from idleness is an insidious thing.

"Oh, certainly not. You know me."

His attention turned inward. He thought he'd known himself, too, but for his confrontation with Calliope in the court. Now, he was less certain. "Do you have any idea what you'll do now?" 'Now', of course, probably bore more significance for him than it did for Shrike, but the events on the Summit could not be ignored, nor could the subsequent abandonment of Denocte by its regime. The winds of change were winding up into a proper storm.

Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around

@Shrike