“I promise,” Oliver whispered. He shook Crane’s shoulders entreatingly. “Do you hear? I promise! Wake up, Brother Crane. Please!”
The old Crownseeker’s eyes stared off into nothingness. Oliver bit down on his trembling lip and laid his forehead against Crane’s. A part of him seemed to have flaked away, a solid and dependable piece of himself that he had thought would always be there.
Now, he felt like he was flying in the wind, with nothing left to anchor him to earth.
At length, he sat up straight again. Looking down, seeing Crane’s cold, motionless face, another wave of sorrow slammed into Oliver, stronger than before. It felt like every time he saw his body, it seemed more real than before.
Oliver wept, his shoulders shaking. He was dimly aware of the two women beside him, watching, but he did not care. Nothing mattered in that moment except for Crane, whom he held cradled in his arms like a child.