Disclaimers: grief, death, trauma
You bloody idiot.
Don’t you smirk at me. Don’t you realise what you’ve done?!
Don’t give me that ‘sacrifice’ bullshit. You’ve traumatised the poor guy. He won’t cast a damn thing! Won’t touch a cauldron. He’s almost as useless as Broof is now…
He was my chance, my one real chance at having someone who could help me synthesise a cure and now he won’t even boil a kettle.
Are you happy?
If you think this will make me give up though, you can sod right off. This time I know exactly where to start.
And this time you can’t stop me.
Don’t look at me like that. They’ll be fine without me. Besides, I’m not responsible for any of them.
OK, fine! I guess I am responsible. Indirectly. I did raise the moron.
He’s the only reason I’m here.
Well, other than wanting to be sure you were actually dead, of course.
I’m kidding. Old habits… it doesn’t matter.
I know you can’t tell me what I came here to ask. I know this is bloody stupid of me.
I know no one gives a skinny rat’s backside about him, but I need to know what happened to my brother.
Sage. Broof and Moon and all the goddamn books you owned tell me that he wouldn’t have survived such a huge dose of magic.
I can’t find evidence to confirm or contradict that.
Not a hair, not a scent, not a trace. I can’t find him anywhere.
…Is that because there’s nothing to find?
Oh my word… it is, isn’t it?
There’s nothing to find.
“Open your eyes again, baby. Look at me.”
“Don’t close your eyes. Stay awake, baby. Stay.”
“Stay with me. Good boy. Hush, it’s all right. It’s all right. I’m not here to harm you. Relax… relax…”
“Oh, poor baby. Poor boy. I know it hurts. It’s all right. Hush. It will all be all right.”
“That’s it, baby, take my hand. Good boy, hold on to me. Hold me tightly. I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got you, Caleb.”