"Don't linger too long in the Clearing," Alain tells the still form in his arms, and bows his head, pressing a kiss to Roland's forehead. After a moment, tears running unchecked down his face, he reaches up and gently closes Roland's staring blue eyes. It's a little longer still before he stirs himself to move, easing Roland's heavy form (dead weight now, nothing but cooling meat with the form of one beloved) carefully off his lap and struggling to his knees to take what he can from the body. The knife is first, of course, stuck through his belt, but there are other things as well. He won't let them go to waste. Not in such a place as this.
He thinks of taking Roland's shirt as well (savaged and bloody though it is, it's still an improvement over his stupid vest and bare arms; at the very least, it could make bandages), but that seems a bridge too far. Roland deserves more dignity than that. Instead, he just crosses Roland's arms over his chest and goes to drag the wolf out of the embers. The commotion may draw attention, and Alain isn't leaving good meat here if he can help it.
He's still hauling at the smouldering bulk of the beast when the hovercraft comes for Roland's body. Dropping the dead wolf, Alain straightens up as the claw closes around Roland. Instinct wells up in him - no, no, don't take him, I'm not done saying goodbye! - but it is a child's voice, hysterical and impractical, and he shoves it back mercilessly. As Roland's body rises, though, Alain does tap his throat in salute, watching his old friend lifted away. Only when Roland is out of sight does he go back to his work, retrieving his pocket-knife from the wolf's eye and starting to skin the beast.
No more than half an hour later, he is gone. All he leaves behind him is a wolf pelt and entrails, and the scattered embers now extinguished. And any doubts he had about what he must do. For my father's sake, and for his. The Games aren't over yet.
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He thinks of taking Roland's shirt as well (savaged and bloody though it is, it's still an improvement over his stupid vest and bare arms; at the very least, it could make bandages), but that seems a bridge too far. Roland deserves more dignity than that. Instead, he just crosses Roland's arms over his chest and goes to drag the wolf out of the embers. The commotion may draw attention, and Alain isn't leaving good meat here if he can help it.
He's still hauling at the smouldering bulk of the beast when the hovercraft comes for Roland's body. Dropping the dead wolf, Alain straightens up as the claw closes around Roland. Instinct wells up in him - no, no, don't take him, I'm not done saying goodbye! - but it is a child's voice, hysterical and impractical, and he shoves it back mercilessly. As Roland's body rises, though, Alain does tap his throat in salute, watching his old friend lifted away. Only when Roland is out of sight does he go back to his work, retrieving his pocket-knife from the wolf's eye and starting to skin the beast.
No more than half an hour later, he is gone. All he leaves behind him is a wolf pelt and entrails, and the scattered embers now extinguished. And any doubts he had about what he must do. For my father's sake, and for his. The Games aren't over yet.