Jigano hadn't read the notice, but word of mouth from it had reached the Provost in his Hall and drawn him back to Torchline to pay his respects to the last of the Valairs. The news had left him shaken, striking deep into the heart of a man who had been trying so hard to let those he cared for stretch their own wings and fly free...
And look where that led?
He knew it was only bitterness speaking, railing against the loss of someone he had cared for. Denial. Anger. She had been so sure of her strength, and had grown so confident and graceful, far from the timid mouse he had first met in the LongNight dark.
There wasn't even a body to hold a service for.
His fingers shook as he lit the candle at the tower's top, head bowed as he tried to will away what had been said. Not gone. Not dead she could still come back from that last, disastrous trip. She had controlled water, had grown wings, had befriended a will-o-wisp.
Sometimes the gods call those they love most back to them soonest, it was said.
He could believe that, some days. But still he lit the candle to guide her home and watched it burn down before he trudged down the lighthouse steps and stepped into the evening air, so much wetter and warmer here on the coast than in the Hollowed Grounds. His cheeks were dry, but it was humid enough that it felt as though the air wept for him, and out in the distance a storm rolled over the water, lightning flashing down to the sea. For a moment he leaned against the stones, staring out over the water as the light faded hoping to see...
Someone that wouldn't come.
Not ever again.
And look where that led?
He knew it was only bitterness speaking, railing against the loss of someone he had cared for. Denial. Anger. She had been so sure of her strength, and had grown so confident and graceful, far from the timid mouse he had first met in the LongNight dark.
There wasn't even a body to hold a service for.
His fingers shook as he lit the candle at the tower's top, head bowed as he tried to will away what had been said. Not gone. Not dead she could still come back from that last, disastrous trip. She had controlled water, had grown wings, had befriended a will-o-wisp.
Sometimes the gods call those they love most back to them soonest, it was said.
He could believe that, some days. But still he lit the candle to guide her home and watched it burn down before he trudged down the lighthouse steps and stepped into the evening air, so much wetter and warmer here on the coast than in the Hollowed Grounds. His cheeks were dry, but it was humid enough that it felt as though the air wept for him, and out in the distance a storm rolled over the water, lightning flashing down to the sea. For a moment he leaned against the stones, staring out over the water as the light faded hoping to see...
Someone that wouldn't come.
Not ever again.
