To burn, fire needed fuel. To save them all, Beak had used all the fuel within him. In horror, Faradan Sort found herself staring at a collapsed jumble of ashes and scorched bone. But no, there was pattern within that, a configuration, if she could but focus through her tears. Oh. The bones of the arms seemed to be hugging the knees, the crumpled skull settled on them. Like a child hiding in a closet, a child seeking to make himself small, so small… Beak. Gods below…Beak.
