The city feels like it's shaking apart around them, and perhaps it isn't unhelpful distraction as they traverse the distance from the Devil's Fee to camp. With Enver in tow, even changed as he is, there's no telling what his black hand Baneites will do given half the chance, especially now that he's separated himself so distinctly from his former god.

It makes two of them godless now, and nothing has felt quite so surprisingly sweet as that. He barely has the space spare to contemplate what the end of Raphael signifies either but, considering his lack of wanting to deal with the devil, it's another victory he'll tuck away for later.

So it's with a flurry they arrive back at camp, not all too long, it turns out, after the group who had targeted the Iron Throne. Something that he realises very abruptly that he needs to address given who is already at camp. After letting the raised voices get so far, he interjects and cuts off the anger with a suggestion of delaying until after they actually have a city left.

And so it's in the disused chapel that he finally finds some time and space alone with Enver, closing the doors to the rest of camp and hoping his companions' trust of him extends just a little further.

He sits on one of the pews, the wood creaking and complaining beneath his weight. Hopefully it doesn't break, but all of a sudden he's feeling incredibly tired. He makes the effort to look at the other man before he speaks.

"I... don't know where to start. Just that we have precious little time and it feels as though we never had enough time to begin with."