Porcupine Ridge you only live forever in the lights you make

Phocion took a deep breath as she spoke, letting it out against her shoulder, ruffling the fur there. He pulled away, after a moment, his cerulean eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you," he said simply, too shaken to smile but hoping that the gentleness of his face could convey what he felt. "Thank you for being here. I couldn't do this--any of this--without you."

He bent, running his nose along Cortland's still--but breathing!--form. "We can stay here for now," Phocion murmured, gaze downcast. He was loath not to return to Silvertip, but Poet was absolutely right. They couldn't, not yet. He would keep vigil, until it was time.

The white priest looked up, squinting in Iliana's hellish glare. The lilting language of the tribe came to his lips, unbidden.

"Fengari, watch over your son--
Though you are far from us now
Keep him in your mind
Keep him in your heart
Heal this broken body
So that he may continue to serve
And sing your praises."