He stood before his brother's grave marker again, tears hot on his cheeks, the air bitterly cold and heavy with snow.
Feet approached but not the soft tread of castle boots. It was the heavy tread and jangle of a knighta Paladin, the finest soldiers in the kingdom, many bragged the finest cavalry in the world. Why would a Paladin visit him in the graveyard?
Yet as he rose, the graveyard vanished, leaving him in darkness. Håkon turned, hand going for his sword and falling, forgotten to his side, as he stared at Kristof, in all his beautiful, unstoppable glory. "What are you doing here?" He expected the same miserable, frustrating silence he always got when he spoke to Kristof in his dreams.
"Looking for you," Kristof said softly.