“Yes!” The older Ilryth continues to try to pry his younger self away. To force him to the tree to take up the mantle of duke. But his efforts are waning. His strength is leaving him. Instead his shoulders are slumping. “Yes,” he rasps, somewhere between rage and tears. “She will always be ashamed of you, you pathetic coward. It’s because of you that her death meant nothing…that she couldn’t sever her mortal ties sufficiently to quell the rage.”
