Noctisardor Bypass laksen

Something pensive stole across Heda’s face. It took the shape of stifled anguish; Anselm felt his stomach lurch in an unrecognized species of concern. 

Heda explained that Druid’s departure had been deliberate; the bite, the sickness — the little fractured pieces all fell into place. Anselm’s expression went from confusion, to concern, to anger — yet another thing stolen from him that could not be taken back. 

So her fate was to die alone in the woods, then. Past-Anselm would have taken this news with calloused indifference. He’d spent months with Druid. Hunted alongside her. Lived with her. He’d even once or twice shared an almost friendly camaraderie — and now her bones would join the faceless thousands in some unknowable oaken crypt. 

It was as unkind and hopeless a fate as any - a rare and feeble spark of empathy briefly glimmered within Anselm’s mind as he thought of Druid’s end. 

He stayed the growing emotion inside of him when the topic shifted. Etienne’s name inspired a dark movement in him, but he remained silent on the topic of leadership. 

He bitterly wanted to point out Etienne wasn’t here; but that wasn’t patently true, was it?