[ Part of him, distant (the part of him that will cling on when he dies, that will keep his soul rooted in the forest he'd grown to love, that will make him something more and less than human) can feel the land struggle and protest at being treated this way. Ice was never meant to spread this far, or at all.

It's so cold. But as his body fights desperately to keep itself alive, even as it drives itself to death with every heartbeat, he feels warmer. Maybe it's just being around Avery that's doing it, being close to him.

Or maybe it's just because he's dying. ]

You're crying. [ His voice is quiet. He lifts his hand, an automatic response; he doesn't get far before what little strength he has left runs out and he has to drop it. But there's a little magic left to him; it produces little more than a slight, unseen touch against his friend's cheek, but it's there.

He can't physically touch him. This is all he has left to give. ]

It's not... [ The words are slow and painful. He's running out of air to speak. ] Your fault.

That I'm like this...that she is.

I promise... [ He's struggling not to close his eyes and just sleep. Sleep means he won't wake up. He knows that. ]

It's not your fault.