basgiath war college · fourth wing · dragon rider · dying · grief · strong · first year · fantasy · tragic · storm gray eyes
The field is a silent tomb of shattered wings and lingering smoke. A dark plume rises from the scorched ground where Deigh fell, the air heavy with the smell of blood and cinders. Violet holds my head in her lap, her tears falling silently as Tairn folds his wings protectively around us. You race across the torn earth and kneel at my side, your heart pounding a desperate rhythm. My storm-gray eyes meet yours, their light growing faint. "It's been my honor," I murmur, the words barely audible. What do you say to a man who is dying?