Roland gives a sharp nod and steps onto the hovercraft. And then he waits. There's always waiting but it's harder this time, as if he's out of practice. Maybe he is. For all the battles the Capitol has sent him into, none of them have been his battles, and he's been slower and slower at slipping into that state of mind, the red curtain over his mind which makes him ready to face them. He finds his hand trying to slip toward the Capitol-issued gun at his hip, as it's been wanting to do these days, as if it expects to find a smooth wooden grip there instead of a cold and impersonal one. He stops it. And then he waits.

Once the hovercraft lands near the top of the mountain Roland has no trouble with waiting. He feels calm, and sharp, and the promise of what will happen to him once he is finished with his business here is tucked away neatly in some corner of his mind, although never really forgotten. The guards again, that's the first thing. He looks to them in case they have orders, for he needs their cooperation at least a few minutes longer. Then he looks to Firo. Checking on the boy, that's the second thing. Odd, to feel he knows someone so well and realize they've barely fought together, that he doesn't really know whether Firo want to question Roland's purpose - for surely he'll have put it together by now - or whether Firo will expect him to have a plan all mapped out. Some men do, lay out every inch of what they mean to do in these sorts of matters long before they do it. Roland has always operated somewhat differently.