Phoenix Maplewood we drew our heavy revolvers and exultantly killed the gods

Names he did not know filtered in and out of his ears, though he knew that they would be important to remember. He tried to keep them all down. Furi, Dawn, Grayday--nah, wait, the last one was dead. Trivia, perhaps, but nothing important to hold on to. His eyes moved slowly from Thuringwethil to Aviana, drinking in as much information as he could.

But really, he was just window dressing. Which was fine with him. He could stand and look pretty. Also, he was a grenade, in case things got ugly. He doubted it. . .but you never could tell.