Dragoncrest Cliffs the world's grave. not ours.

onward and onward and on; she did not feel kaertok fall, continuining to rip and to hold and to savage numbly numbly, eyes splattered with blood, noseblind in it, staggering aside as finally the bear wrenched from her grip.
panting for breath as the sand soaked red from the terrible wounds that the wolves had torn in the monster;
blinking through crimson as she searched for them all; for her wife for njord for kaertok —
kaertok unmoving and smeared in scarlet; erzulie forced aching limbs to churn her to his side, and there she felt for breath and found none. it was just as well; any breaths taken after his throat had been torn would have only been agony. all the same her heart clutched with pain.
her mouth worked — she staggered up and brushed rosalyn sharply, breathing for the both of them. "i need to go wid him," erzulie croaked in the direction of their failing archangel; a helpless look to njord and then the harlot was shambling after rosencrantz, hoping fervently that she might be able to save him, stopping to stare at kaertok and then what of raleska was recognizable; a single sob rending the air as she found herself caught.