[ A god watches him, presses a distant, metaphorical kiss to his mouth, and then vanishes in a curl of death-black smoke and the smell of violent things. Carver tips his head back, staring at nothing, remembering the fires and all his following dead. For a moment, he can barely breathe. For a moment, he feels the grease on his skin all over again. Catching in his throat, threatening to choke him.
He coughs. But Cy's gone. A warning or a promise, he can't tell. These things happen. Carver tips his head back, staring at nothing, and then: ]
Fortitudo salutis, [ he murmurs, prayer and promise both. He sits with his dead for a long time in the quiet. ]
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He coughs. But Cy's gone. A warning or a promise, he can't tell. These things happen. Carver tips his head back, staring at nothing, and then: ]
Fortitudo salutis, [ he murmurs, prayer and promise both. He sits with his dead for a long time in the quiet. ]