The world was white, but not in the way she last remembered. What she did not see pulsed against her eyelids -- shades of oblivion flickering back and forth constantly. Here the air was sweet instead of ash, it moved gently over her body instead of disappearing into the ground beneath her. Her cheeks were warm, not on fire, and her hand did not hurt. Vera could hear seabirds calling to one another, the rhythm of waves, and the soft humming of a baritone voice she did not know. She wondered if she had died, if Armas had taken her into his arms at last and carried her as his daughter to the halls of great, dead kings. Was that him? Humming as he turned his hands in the world?

Vera wished she could open her eyes and see as she once did. She wanted to see him, to know that he stood over the world and watched all of the battles she fought. But that required confrontation. Memories waited patiently at the gates of her thoughts, wanting to speak with her in urgent flashes. The painful reminders of where she had come from. Oh Vera was too weary. She did not want to know. This warm place, this blank comfort, was where she desired to remain. Listening to the great sea god, knowing the world still flowed without her in it...

( If you won't do your duty, then I'll do it for you... )

Eithne would have enjoyed herself more in Oisea if there were different circumstances. Her hands still felt raw even after Cols had healed them days ago. She couldn't stop feeling tired even if she had all the rest in the world. Sleeping Tiger and Cols were there, all waiting for the same thing. For Eragos, for whatever it was that was coming to come. Maybe she was a little excited about it, hard not to be, action was action and whether it brought them all death or glory it was something besides guarding the Dragon another weekend.

( She really didn't like guarding the dragon. )