Maybe they're both fortunate this evening that the intervening days have left the vicar less inclined towards poking bears or kicking wasps' nests. Reaching the end of each day finds Adhemar withdrawn and pensive; the threads of the Normal Person suit he wears each day are a bit frayed at their ends.

He steps out of the chapel that evening with every intention of simply crossing the grounds towards his private quarters, but pauses when he spots Volodymyr lurking outside the infirmary. With smoke rising up from the end of that cigarette and fire in his eyes, he might be able to trick a dragon into viewing him as its kin. Adhemar looks back at him in neutral silence, deliberating privately, and then comes to a decision.

Hands tucked into the pockets of his cassock, he walks towards the infirmary--and, consequently, towards Volodymyr. Then, once he's within a reasonable distance, he withdraws a familiar-looking knife and extends it out towards him, hilt first.

He smiles thinly. "Yours, I believe."