Silvertip Mountain You will hear music and then you will not

merrick was soon no longer alone;
and yet he was, he was, he was;
the single eye burned with bedlamic frustration; he licked his dry lips as he finally swung his battle-scarred head to face his son.
naked pain entered his gaze; aventus looked so like her that for a moment —
it cleared. merrick was not bitter that it was his son who was before him, that he was here and whole —
father;
"i've — i have been trying — attempting to reach your mother."
"from the beyond."
merrick was no soothsayer, he was no shaman; he was only weak for he could not exhume her without blood, without nyra's blood, without
"she isn't speaking." he stared now into the empty eye sockets of the former bruin-leaf. "not yet. she isn't — she isn't bones that i can bring here. not yet. she's in the middle."
merrick slowly tilted his head to stare at the cave's ceiling.
"stuck, maybe. she needs —"
his voice cut off.