Read by Michael J. DeLuca.
Death circles the tent. She sees the shadow of antlers, tangled like the grove beneath her study in the towers she betrayed. You cannot save him, Death whispers; not forever. But perhaps you can save yourself. Is that why you nurse him with the warmth of the souls of crows? So that you may save his life, and offer it to me? Will he be the payment for your debt?
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