He falls.
The world is for naught. The violence I have witnessed, for what end? No end, no end but pain and heartbreak. I know. I feel it now, in my breast, in my heart, at the very core of my being. And still, I just barely see your hand beckon to me. A disembodied hand, tainted with blood. His blood. That blood is what shakes me in my soul. The person in whom that blood flowed, that man. I cannot take such a hand, so twisted and corrupted by the forcible taking of that blood from such a man. My man? Dare I think it? It does not matter. He is dead. I see his broken body now, amidst the deep forest and the majestic cliffs. I look down on my man from these high cliffs, from which he was thrown. It is not so hard, to tumble from these cliffs. His broken body. These cliffs. It is not so difficult. Did I hear a shout? Does it matter? My man. His body. These cliffs. I soar to my man. I will fall at his side.
We will fly.