The Fortress had been obliterated, and the bright, explosive secrets that were buried within remain hidden and untouched. Now the serpents wandered for what seemed like days for the quiet raven-haired man, all the while comfortable and able-bodied. He had thought many times of what would become of the weapons hidden within Mt. Hakobe, considering to return to these items when times were better and their guild's security had been assured.
Ahote would be sitting on the thick, exposed root of a rather seasoned oak during their venture, idly snuggling up into his black trench coat with a fixed gaze of the ink skies pouring through the cracks in the leaves. The chilliness was no stranger to him and comforted him in this strange and dark land, but it was not this alone that soothed him. Not so far by were his colleagues, which he could only assume were returning to their usual dealings with one another: chatting, exploring, and drinking whatever alcohol they've salvaged. But he could not tell for sure if that were the case since many of their natural odors were the yeasty or pleasant aroma of alcohol.
After moments of staring over at their general space, his lips would part and tongue call out to them with a mild urgency. His solemnity ringed soundlessly with every breath, and he remained still against the tree trunk, "Why don't we get moving soon? Something will surely eat us if we keep taking breaks like this." he'd complain more than insisting with an acute stress swelling in his throat.