Brunhild glanced at her husband, but Magnus was a statue, staring out at the Great Sea, refusing to look back at the shore.
“Aye, that’s us,” she sighed. “Where do we sign in yer book?”
The Kul Tiran helped her sign without a second glance for Magnus; during the evacuation of the survivors of Lordaeron, he had seen all sorts of reactions, whether it was uncontrollable weeping, endless rage or, common among the dwarves, a grim refusal to acknowledge the pain at all.
Brunhild ran a hand along her husband’s shoulders.
“Ye’re stiff,” she said. “Well, stiffer than usual.”
“How is it?” Magnus rumbled, so quietly that only a wife of many years could have understood the words.
Brunhild leaned against the railing, looking back across the ship and toward the shore.
“Blighted. Burning. There’s a few things flying overhead. Reckon there’s few left alive.”
“The last ships out o’ Lordaeron,” Magnus murmured. “Not sailing to Kul Tiras, but tae somewhere beyond that no one’s e’er heard of. Are ye sure we should nae go south, back to Khaz Modan and our boys?”
“We would be dead afore we reached the Thandol Span. And we have nae idea where to find the boys. They may still be gallivanting around with Feranor Steeltoe out by Strahnbrad. We have tae trust they went south in time.”
“Ah donnae think … Ah donnae reckon …”
“That’ll we’ll e’er see them again?” Brunhild turned toward the Great Sea, sliding an arm around Magnus’ shoulders, resting her head on his arm. “Maybe. But no matter what folks call them, the Flinthammer Boys are nae boys any more. They’ll be fine.”
Magnus grunted, unconvinced.
“Ely, maybe. He’ll find himself in a job counting every bullet in the arsenal and chasin’ down every receipt fer the chuck wagons.”
“An army travels on its stomach,” Brunhild smiled.
“And Bragh,” Magnus said, warming to his subject. “The whole world could go tae blazes, and he’d be fine, off somewhere with his beasties.”
“Our wee boarmaster.”
“Ah pity the undead bastard who crosses paths with Mordrun. That crazy bastard’s half-beast hisself. He’ll rip them to pieces with his teeth and bare hands and all.”
“Ah hope he washes up after,” Brunhild sighed. “Fer once.”
“And Durkon,” Magnus smiled at last, straightening up a bit. “Ah expect, after he’s done chaperonin’ his brothers around on a silly dragon hunt, he’ll end up leadin’ the whole bloody army.”
“Ah reckon yer right.”
“But Ringo,” Magnus scowled. “That boy practically got killed tagging along with his brothers on Steeltoe’s expedition. Who’s going tae keep an eye on him when if we’re nae around?”
Brunhild pinched her lips.
“The boy knows his limitations, just like Ely does. He’ll stay out o’ trouble after this, trust me.”
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