"Ha, ain't I motherfucking know it," He says. He remembers the burns all up his arms. He remembers how they went immediate to sending him into an arena of heat and humidity. The unfunny fuckers.

Of course, that had been when he'd first met her. There'd been a lot of bad up in that arena, but he supposes that one thing to have been good.

Nameless should've been here with him. She should've been by their side, ready for strife. She'd have been brilliant. But she was gone now, and he supposes he ought just be grateful for the gift she left of them; each other.

"THANK YOU, LITTLE SISTER. Oh sister of sand and stone."