Håkon opened his eyes, stared up at the rocks above him, trying to decide if the dreams or nightmares were worse. Living in a necromancer's head while he devoured fresh organs might actually be more bearable than recalling the few moments he'd had with Kristofand how utterly he had wasted them.
Please let Kristof have lived. Goddesses grant him that one mercy. He would endure whatever miseries they heaped upon him in the future so long as Kristof was alive and well. Standing up, he stretched to work out the worst of the kinks in his body, rubbing at his arm where he must have slumped over in the night and slept on it wrong.