The horse cradled his companion's head long after the final breath had fled. The only noise now in the ruins of the ancient dragon pit was the sputtering of candles and the slow, noisome dripping of the drake's blood onto the floor.

He would have to leave eventually, he knew. The knowledge sat like a dagger in him, stabbing with every motion. But not yet. Not now. There was still time to remember, and to be grateful for what they had shared.

And later, when he re-emerged into a world of light--darkened nonetheless by his loss--he would find a bard, and fashion a tale. A tale for skalgs to hear for centuries. A tale that would give his friend new life, and make valorous all his deeds.

A tale to make the fallen immortal.

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