Swiftcurrent Creek playing with a stick of dynamite

Akavir snorted in return, sardonic but good-natured ribbing. “There’s no fucking flowers to smell in the dead of the winter, Arric,” he retorted, amusement lacing his tone as he stood up then, offering a shake. The man could take from that what he would—but of course, a jab had to be added: “Not all of us get to play with the sirens,” he teased, a short laugh escaping him as he began to trot away, assuming he would seek out Jakoul and coax her along for what he hoped was a quick journey.