Bearclaw Valley those lions are coming, oh they're coming.

she was too tired to hold on much longer. it had taken a supreme amount of concentration -- an exhausting amount -- to be somewhat coherent. her tongue labored, and her throat burned -- meanwhile, flames licked at the edge of the siren's vision.

thank god for that ice-cold stone; caiaphas pressed her agonized head to it, unfeeling of the tears that fell from merrick's brow. she knew what was not spoken -- she would die, but he would continue on, holding the memory of her like a fire hidden in his heart.

if that was the way of the world, so be it.

her eyes closed in response: no. there was nothing he could do but stand and watch -- and god willing, maybe point her furious husk in the direction of easthollow. her vengeance would be his burden to bear. in that regard it was more curse than heirloom, but if anything was true of this world, it was that merrick was wickedly capable of carrying out wishes on her behalf.

an admittance fluttered in her ears, prompting one of her closed eyes to open slowly, blearily. that smile cracked -- painful, and short -- but so sweet. "good." the siren managed, her voice but a whisper on the rising winds.