The Sentinels to rest in gardens and wake in crypts

As special as Deirdre was — to her, to Donnelaith, to the wider world — Lucani had seen this before. Guilt at someone's death, guilt that more could not be done. Or rather, that it wasn't done.

At her wretched sorrow, Lucani could not help herself — she moved her tall form forward to offer Deirdre physical comfort, and leaned her muzzle very gently on the snowy wolf's head. It is different, she agreed quietly. And it is very, very difficult to stop blaming yourself. That will be a challenge, but I know you can do it.