#Chapter234
As he sat beneath the winking sun of the dying day, Ronan cowered into his birdie's jacket, drowning in the vicious waves of emotion that had risen to overwhelming proportions. The chill to the air was visible, slithering through the air like the sinister tassels of the Grim Reaper's cloak. His teeth rattled. His eyes streamed. His skin burnt beneath winter's kiss. And yet, still he sat, his legs curled beneath him, his eyes fixed on an uncertain point in the horizon.
There was no intent to move. No will to disappear into the warmth that was readily available behind him. It was just him and his thoughts, and until they'd made their peace, then neither of them were heading back inside.
