Did he? He'd feared she might have, he'd hoped she hadn’t, but there was a selfishness in that, one that didn’t sit any easier with him than the idea that she might have been frightened or in pain.

“I wanted to think that if I wasn’t with you, you might still have been happy, in the end.”

But he realizes it wasn’t really a question, and for a long moment, he rests and holds her and breathes her in. She doesn’t smell like a century in the mire, or a dead thing brought back to life, some kind of abomination: she smells only like herself.

The two little animals examine the room, Ghost sniffing into all the corners. When it seems acceptable, he sits close to the fire, looking at Irriella.