She'd seen his power in the churchyard. It was frightening. Narrowed eyes colder than the stone, flitting from plot to sloppily constructed plot. Carefully controlled voice drifting back over the warm wind; "Why do they even bother..." It wasn't a question.
"Respect for the dead." My answer makes him fix his golden gaze on me. I swallow nervously. He turns away, boots crunching on the loose sand.
"The dead are dead. He'll join them soon."
"Knives doesn't want him dead." My reminder makes him smile.
"Knives isn't here, is he?"
Such a cold chuckle. I shiver.