[ War runs with him, whether he likes it or not. But it's not war that comprises him. It's the kindness that sings in spite of it, because of it. ]

I'll pick up the pieces, no matter how many times.

[ And having no response except a quick smile to having his words turned back on him, he holds his arm out, flexing his fingers where there were once broken knuckles and aching bruises. ]

Thank you for this. If you're sure you'll be alright heading back, I'll be going.