Dragoncrest Cliffs maybe spit some blood at the camera, just stay alive

Ephraim felt like he was floating somewhere above his body as he guided his feet to the cliffs. Part of this was his continuing restlessness at night, but most of it was the weight of Blixen's call smashing into him. Heda is dead. It seemed impossible. Ephraim was sure it was some cruel trick, and that was mostly why he went, for he wouldn't have found it in him to move if not to prove that to himself.

Antumbra wasn't his family and had never sought to be. Ephraim knew now who his family was, and kept himself from thoughts of them lest his disappointment strangle him. Heda wasn't his family, but she had taken him in and mentored him and allowed him to live alongside her own children, even knowing now who he was. He felt the grief threaded through Blixen's howl as keenly as a child might mourn a beloved aunt or uncle. It couldn't be. It wasn't right.

His foggy thoughts ground to a halt as he approached the cliffs. His mind was elsewhere as he lifted an uncharacteristically misty set of eyes up to meet Blixen. Antumbra wasn't there.

He'd always thought Heda was invincible. Because of her, he'd always thought Drageda was invincible and felt protected by that. Now that she was gone, in spite of his beliefs, Ephraim felt like Drageda itself was left vulnerable. He felt unsafe, and all his anxiety about recent events came rushing back. His gaze pleaded with Blixen, then, to restore some semblance of Drageda's strength in him.