They buried the child in the forest, far from the village, in a place of peace and beauty. Anemones grew around her grave, and elm trees rustled in the wind, their leaves like countless dragon scales. The sun shone down and the wind blew from the east, scented of the distant mountains. Tanin placed dandelions upon her grave, and Issari sang softly, songs in the tongue of Eteer. Tanin could not understand the words, but in the music he heard a song of sky, of peace, of memory. A song of farewell.

"Goodnight, child," Tanin whispered. "Sleep well."

They flew on into the south, two dragons, silent. The path stretched below, and the world rolled into the horizon, scarred, a world that could fall, a world they would forever fight for, a sky they would forever find. They flew until the stars emerged above, and the Draco constellation shone upon their scales.

Tanin looked up at their glow. "Illuminate our path, stars of Requiem. We will forever fly in your light."

They descended that night into a forest clearing, shifted back into human forms, and lay upon their fur cloaks. The stars glowed yet Tanin found no comfort, and even when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he only saw it again: the creatures begging on the path, the girl with the slashed belly, the demon he'd stabbed again and again, and all those older horrors of war, visions of demon armies, attacking rocs, and everywhere the dead. A lifetime of pain and death filled his mind like wine overflowing from a goblet.

How do you forget? he thought. How do you forget so much death, so much terror, and ever find peace in the world again? Even if Requiem rises, if we win this war, will there ever be peace for me?

He tilted his head, looking at Issari. She lay beside him, but she too was awake. She trembled, her eyes open and damp, staring up at the stars and praying silently. Tanin moved closer to her, pushing their two cloaks together, and touched her shoulder. She looked at him and nestled close, and he held her in his arms. She laid her head upon his chest and slung her arm across him, and he kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

"I can't sleep," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her, looked up at the stars, and felt some of his pain ease. The world crumbled, Requiem struggled for survival, and death sprawled north and south of the sea. But he had Issari. He had somebody pure to protect.

"Have I told you the story of how I used to juggle?"

She shook her head. "No. Tell me."

He smiled. "I was a horrible juggler. One time, I was juggling apples in a village when a seagull flew down, snatched one of my apples from the air, and flew straight off."

"You lie." A soft smile touched her lips.