Perched on the highest ledge that they could find, K'ell leaned against Eskharath's side. Rain dribbled down their still forms, unnoticed by the pair who gazed out into nothing.

It was raining, and K'ell's cheeks were wet.

It was raining, and K'ell... didn't care.

Eskharath extended a wing, sheltering his chosen rider beneath the stretched membrane. For K'ell he would do what he'd do for no other. For K'ell, he would show a modicum of care. The young man turned, burying himself into his brown's soft hide. Tears threatened to choke him, grasped his heart in an iron grip. But weeping wouldn't bring back the dead.

It was raining, and Shinnikan had loved the rain.

Time slipped between K'ell's fingers, his awareness wandering in at out of the present. If he reached out, eyes blinded by the wet, he could almost pretend that Shinnikan would grasp his hand. But empty air met his touch, and he dropped his hand, defeat and despair sending his hand curling to his side.

If not for Eskharath he probably wouldn't still be breathing. It had been in his mind during one insidious moment that a tall perch such as this one would have been an end to this deathless misery. Yet with the dragon's love dulling and blurring the edges of that pain, even that release was denied him. He hadn't realized just how much he needed his lover until there was nothing of him left.

K'ell wrapped his arms futilely about himself, as if a memory could ease a sorrow that would not cease. Nothing but time, perhaps, would soothe that raw place where Shinnikan once had been. There were hundreds if not thousands of people suffering from a loss equal to his own. The young man gulped, pressing his face against Eskharath as the sobs came again, and willed his selfish grief to end.

It was raining, and nothing would bring him back.