Hushed Willows 'Cause everything I feel is a waste of time

Taking a moment to check her scent for signs of Viskani or her subordinates, he relaxed after finding none of them lingering on her.

I need to go home. It was as simple as that. He was tired, more frail than he had been when Pepper met him. Away from here. That much, at the very least. He needed to be far away from the mountain.

Wary, he was unsure how much he should share. I have a husband. He's waiting for me in his pack on the coast. Or he thought he was dead. Phobos could not decide which was worse.

In his time of isolation, he thought much of death. He though much of Pepper. If he did make it home, would Pepper still love him now in his mangled state? If he did not, if he were to die here and rot away, would Pepper find someone new and replace him?

He missed his store of dried herbs, Pepper's pile of bones, the scent of the various flowers he would bring home before the snow.

Once he found death comforting. Maybe it was because he had not had another to live for.