[ On his way, Ronan had spotted a tree, with a massive hollow in its base, ideal for him to huddle inside of and go unnoticed. Hopefully, it won't give him any kind of visions of the future or the past or whatever else was shown to the others in Cabeswater, but this forest? Isn't Cabeswater. It's not whispering to him in Latin, and time isn't stopping, here.

The guy says heat rune like it makes sense, showing some kind of wand, which. You know, if his magic works here, then Ronan's might, too, and he could dream himself a storm lighter that never runs out. When he can safely sleep.

Bringing his bracelet to his mouth, Ronan tugs on it lightly, the leather soft as butter, still now, after so much time being run ragged by Ronan and his bad habits. ]

Yeah, I guess. I'm thinking of setting up over there. [ He motions to the tree, a little ways away. ] I need to get - shit, though, dry wood.

[ He doesn't want to admit that survival is not a skill he's had to learn. Bear Grylls, Ronan is not. ]

Your rune - it's magic?