Wheeling Gull Isle Teach your children well. . .

You— Couldn't. It eviscerated her. She looked at the boy, mourning a young man torn so asunder by the bear. Had nothing to say.

Stuttered, and then. . .

Thank you, Etienne, Lilitu managed through tight throat, eyes welling. For helping me remember. They stood together, thinking of the important things of their souls.

Sobo, where are you?

Scattered, or together?

Perhaps she'd one day be able to point these youths toward his visage in the sky.