The Sentinels If forests could talk, what would they say?

No one had ever pegged him for a fancy talker, so he reveled for a moment in that—even if she hadn't intended it as a compliment. And she probably hadn't. But still—he'd take it.

That's a good plan, Wraen, Verx remarked. He supposed he should have expected the question lobbed back to him, and found himself grasping for an answer.

My kids, he said after a moment's contemplation, though without hesitation. Dragomir and Isilme. I wanna know if they're still around here somewhere. Wanna explain to them everything. Why I fucked up so badly with their mom. Why I couldn't have been better.

He felt a heaviness, then, and sighed. Just say I'm sorry, I guess, Vercingetorix murmured. I owe 'em that, at least.

As if your life lost hadn't been atonement enough?

Well. He'd deal with that existential question in the great beyond.

After that, I'm more than happy to get back to the garden of carnal delights, he went on, and his smile returned. Grew, even, as he winked at her. Don't be a stranger if I see you around, somewhere out there.

The tall, dark man dipped his head in farewell, then sauntered into the ghostly woods, his own spectral figure buoyant as a leaf on the wind.