"I like to think so," Loxley says. "Especially given Riftwatch. Plenty of heroics to be done there. Plenty of things for everyone to be grateful for, when it's all over."

An optimistic perspective, maybe, given the broadness of the war, the smallness of the scope of a company of some fifty people, but then again, bands of heroes regularly number no more than five. He runs his hand down her back, head tipping at the sound of a floorboard creak somewhere overhead.

"We should fetch a griffon," he suggests, voicing pitching quieter. "Perhaps it's quieted down, outside."