What part of my dying did you not understand? her voice hisses, unforgiving and sharp in his mind. The ghost is inescapable, the memory impossible to avoid. All that he loves has left him, all that he loves he has left. Does he love anymore, does he love, can he love? What is love?

The thought strikes him loud and unforgiving at the same moment Kaj's voice rings through the air. He is struggling and shaking, his dark coat soaked with sweat, but still he forces himself to answer the call. He has a duty, some duty at least. He isn't sure what, he isn't sure how, but he has to do something, doesn't he? He has to at least make an appearance.

The gathering is smaller than anticipated, but not too small that the sneak cannot go unnoticed. He slinks in the shadows, flickering in and out of his cloak. Archibald's gaze is returned in a flash of blue as Knox reveals himself. In the mass, Knox cannot find his son. Has Milo left too, just like Aylin before? Is he really all alone now?

Is there really no one left?

The hunter shakes the thought away before transforming (beneath the safety of his cloak) into the sprightly figure of Zekiah. As that one eyed thief he joins the crowd, just another member of the herd. He slinks up alongside Resplendence, the mare with whom he met not long ago, and shakes out his cropped mane. Perhaps there is something he should say, like the healer and builder, but what is there to say? There are no others of his rank, none even that seem to aspire to it. What point is there in a meeting with an attendance only of its lead?

Knox snorts, turning his one eye to the dauntless and winking slowly. "Last I heard from your brother, Archibald, there was nothing new to report. I'll be sure to pass the message along to him well, aye. Any that wish to speak with him, or that seek acquisitions, can find him in the darkest part of the night, I'd imagine," is all that he can say. His voice is drawling and long, his one eye rolling lazily as if incredibly bored. Zekiah is, after all, quite bored. This doesn't concern him--none of this does. "Slippery bastard, isn't he?"

The smokey black's tail flicks, and his scars seem to shine in the faint light. Inside Knox turns from the scene, already wanting to be gone. This isn't his way. This isn't his way at all.

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