Winona stood beside her, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
She could scarcely believe it; the Draven she remembered had been so bright, so proud, so full of life.
He would tease her until she wanted to scream, yet somehow she could never stay angry at him. He had been like a ray of sunshine, impossible to look away from.
To see him like this… it was unbearable.
Cressida walked forward slowly, her body stiff as stone. Her pale, trembling fingers reached out, brushing against the dried blood on Draven's throat.
It was cold… so cold.
A phrase suddenly echoed in her mind, the words from his final letter.
She whispered to them, her voice low and hollow. "I shall not rest among the Corwyn dead, nor shall I be buried with the Fairmoor kin."
Then she laughed,
