Crows do tend to be clever. And insubordinate. And linger where they may not be wanted.

[Whether he spoke of the bird or himself it isn't easy to say. It could be one, it could be the other, but for the moment he's taking in the fact that he died for this man. And is gauging if it was worth it. Then there's that word, that smirk, that bit of jibing innuendo and he knows that it was worth the pain. Worth the week and whatever he might have lost.

He's leaner, now. Much as he had been when he first met Isaac, nestled warm and comfortable in his bed. His eyes faintly hollow, his hair shorter, his stance more wary- all from a few seconds worth of action.]

I shall strive to be more punctual in the future, Rosso.