Nothing there for you to see

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Korbin was no better off. He wanted nothing more than to follow Loren's example and empty his stomach. Swallowing hard, again and again, he stared at the dead man - the man he had killed - and couldn't really hear or see anything save the still body, and the high pitched keening in his ears.

It took him a long while to notice Loren's outstretched hand, and for the words to reach him. Dark blue eyes stared numbly at the hand, all traces of anger and arrogance gone; he felt far younger than his eighteen years, infinitely small and wretched in this vast, uncaring landscape.

Slowly, wincing as the movement aggravated the broken arm, Korbin reached up and took the offered hand. Let Loren drag him to his feet... He stood swaying for a moment, more gray than pale in the face. Would he throw up after all?

No. No, he did not. "... right." His voice was just as raw, weak and thin, easily torn away by the icy wind. It had picked up in fury, the snow coming down harder. A storm was drawing in. "Gotta find shelter," he said numbly, and looked around. Sought anything in the vicinity that could serve the purpose... but his head wasn't working properly. All he could think about was the way the cannibal  - the man - had shuddered under his hands just before he stilled.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.