He would have knelt but he no longer thought his legs would hold him up. It didn’t matter. The god was there. The god remembered his name. Thank you, he prayed. Thank you. Thank you for coming back to me. Thank you for using me to stop the clocktaurs. Thank you for letting me be your sword. Thank you for letting me save Slate. And then, a terrible prayer he knew he could never make aloud, Thank you for letting it be Brenner, and not her.
