Wheeling Gull Isle Some feathers I stole from the birds

His chance to reconnect went up in smoke. His chance to make amends, gone, and now all that was left was an empty vessel. Maegi took notice of how Mou paced and inspected the body; she began to act in tandem with him, both searching for signs of life internal. It was the longest of long shots — but something could be salvaged. Had they gotten here in time? Were they far enough along? If they were lost forever they were lost, another piece of a tapestry of death from the cursed life of Mou and Maegi.

Had they somehow caused this? Mou did not want to entertain the thoughts of old gods taking new forms — Sithis, carried within him. An infection of the spirit. Not his fault, not his fault — We have to save them.

He stopped moving, and he stared down at the golden idol with the future locked in to a dead womb. His one eye bright, unblinking. Cut them out. Give them breath. Maybe... maybe... Salvage what they could.

This was madness; he saw the body and heard the snap of fire with each shift of Niamh's coat beneath the spring wind. He saw her as this transformative thing, this portal between life and death. Please.