Bearclaw Valley the masque of the red death

avicus spoke.
merrick's distraught features unplucked from one another, a paper smoothed through the reversal of a time machine. death comes for all of us, sparrow, came the flat chuckle inside his head; how many times had he come close? even now, there was nothing to suggest that merrick was not trapped in some waking dream.
"you are not dead," the bearwolf repeated. "you are alive. so alive. you can breathe the air," and here he demonstrated, single eyelid fluttering shut a moment. "and she cannot. death is hers. life is yours."