{oOo}

The child was silent, staring up at Mortarion with big pitch-black eyes. It puzzled him: she had been crying a moment ago and once he came into view she had stopped. In his experience his sight frightened people, yet the child seemed calmed by it.

He knelt down, frowning. Who would leave a baby in the middle of the forest? At least she was wrapped up in a blanket, but it still seemed wrong. Maybe her parents had no other choice? But… she'd be dead then.

He felt torn. On the one hand, it was a baby, all alone and helpless. On the other hand, it was a suspicious thing. He couldn't leave her, but taking her was a risk.

A moment later logic and worry left his mind. The little girl gurgled and waved her hand in his direction. She liked him. The little, fragile thing liked him. Not because he was the only person strong enough to stand up to the warlords and their dead servants; not because he was the only person smart enough to create suits resistant to the poisonous fog that hid the mountains. She just did.

He carefully picked the girl up, dumbfounded as to why she seemed not to mind.

{oOo}

The girl looks like a porcelain doll; beautiful and fragile. The only outward similarity she and Mortarion share is paleness, and even this is not very pronounced. Her skin is like virgin snow, his is scared and grayish.

And yet she calls him brother and holds his hand when they watch the mountains. Neither speaks.

No word is said, when Mortarion has to leave and fight. She simply watches her brother go, leading the militia to war.

Then, one day, when he is not there, the dead come. The girl faces them calmly, silent as ever.

Like her brother, she is a Guardian of Death.

{oOo}