Greg's hand reaches shaking into his pocket, withdrawing a photograph, smeared in blood. With only half his fingers it slips onto the floor and he reaches for it, grunting.
Fenris reperched itself, gazing at the burial. Its death, why the procession? A kill in grandeur would have been worth more, a foe torn apart. Solemn and slow, no way for a "warrior" to be buried. War, warrior. A warrior should be buried under the corpses of their foes, not the earth. Somber, a mood I've yet to understand, grief also. I grieve that I have not yet killed my mark and ended this dream but that is not the same and I do not understand.