Firefly Glen I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry if it got that bad

tavvauvutit angajuk.

it was the whisper of the inner spirit as toad amelia faded, and kukutux pulled her mind permanently from the name once worn by the rapidly cooling body. her eyes roved with a last horrified sorrow over the still, torn body. no spark within — and hydra's voice, firm, leading — it dragged the duck up and up. numbly she glance toward the man collapsed in the snow, and then toward keres —

a sharp breath, and though she heeded the blackbear and moved mutely to the side of the man who had fallen, she could not keep her eyes from the scene of torn flesh and bright blood that scoured across one side of the valkyrie's body. the duck had brought nothing that would bind the wounds together; she had no time to grieve, nor to wail in a second torment. 

the man breathed. she lay her cheek against his chin to see that it was so, then nudged him roughly, seeking to awaken. too often the bad spirits crept close when one was so caught in the place between death and living. "aya, makik," kukutux ordered in a sharp voice, not intending to be cruel. but he must get to his feet, and at once. she could not let him sleep here while the snow stole his life.

only when and if he rose would the duck rise, whirling to keres with tears blurring her vision, silently begging toward hydra to remain, to ease the passing of the fierce woman who had guarded her first vigil. hydra knew that kukutux would mind whatever word she gave, but to put all her intention into the man and none in the glen-warrior tormented the moondrop.