The reds and golds that paint this land in the autumn still surprise me. I never saw such beautiful death in the snowy wastes, it was always quick and black and frozen. But these leaves get the most beautiful last song that I've ever seen, perhaps it inspires the people of these towns to make their own deaths beautiful too. The graveyards, with their stained glass and inscriptions, are so elegant and so jarringly permanent, that I can read the last words of ancient soldiers as if they had just been spoken. Even the funeral pyres have an elegance that reflects the orange patterns in the autumn leaves.
I remember how we buried Balthzar, in an icy hole on mount Ka'ar. As I spoke his last rites I remember my voice catching in my throat, I was almost unable to commit him to the storm, I couldn't bear to think that now I would have to take his place. I remember being reminded that I could not wish for him to return, I had to keep going; that, I think, was the only grave I ever looked back to.
"The storm will take everything in the end. Do not fight it."
I never doubted that in the snowy wastes, it always seemed so glaringly obvious. But doesn't that mean we shouldn't bring people back from the brink of death, which I know I can do? I think if I got the chance to bring back Balthzar I would. I don't think he'd like me for it though.