The Sentinels alphonsine

He was quiet for a long time. Sobbing still, but able to contain the voracity of his sorrow. He did not want to grieve, he did not want to need to grieve, and yet his body rejected his control and continued. The tears soaked his cheeks, dotted the forest floor, nourished Donnelaith as Lasher's body would. As his spirit still did, through each of them.

He steadied himself by leaning against her, breathing her in, and breathing Lasher out. He filled the air with his very soul; whatever was left of him had been imbibed to the whole of Donnelaith, and it was too much for Renoir to bare. He tasted her and was reminded, in flickering, fleeting and foggy thoughts, of the beach. His head wound had healed but his devotion remained.

Deirdre, he all but whispered, Deirdre... mwen cannot stey 'ere. But, ah, mwen cannot leave you, because his love for her was strong. It was overwhelming. It would fix all that hurt within him, for Deirdre was a healing light within the world and he, seeking the light instead of the pain, could not live without it. Plees, lovely... lovely one, come wid me. He crooned in to her ear as softly as he could, but there was a tremulous note to his voice, a yearning and a sadness Renoir would never be able to shake.