she had meant them to bring healing to the T’lan Imass, to their long-bereft souls. A world where her mother was young once more. A dreamworld, gift of K’rul. Gift of the Daru, Kruppe. Gift of love, in answer to all she had taken from her mother. But the T’lan Ay had turned away, were silent to her desperate call – and now Whiskeyjack was dead. Two marines, two women whose solid presence she had come to depend on – more than they could ever have realized. Two marines, killed defending her. Whiskeyjack. All that was Tattersail keened with inconsolable grief. She had turned from him as well. Yet
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