"Don't you?"

"You have lost all your followers."

"I have." Gruntle saw that Toc Anaster was now watching him, fixed, sharp as a dagger point.

"They are not here."

He frowned at Iskar Jarak. "And they should be, I suppose?"

Brukhalian finally spoke, "It is just that. We are no longer so sure."

"Stay out of Hood's realm," said Toc Anaster. "The gate is . . . closed."

Master Quell started. "Closed? But that's ridiculous! Does Hood now turn the dead away?"

Toc's single eye held on Gruntle. "The borders are sealed to the living, There will be sentinels. Patrols. Intrusions will not be tolerated. Where we march you can't go. Not now, perhaps never. Stay away, until the choice is taken from you. Stay away."

And Gruntle saw then, finally, the anguish that gripped Toc Anaster, the bone-deep fear and dread. He saw how the man's warning was in truth a cry to a friend, from one already lost, already doomed. Save yourself. Just do that, and it will all be worth it – all we must do, the war we must seek. Damn you, Gruntle, give all this meaning.

Then clan will miss them, and if there are a few tears shed during fond farewells they are not dwelt on. Sadness can come later; everyone wants to remember the duos last moments as part of the clan with joy.