Today was the day.

He'd been up early--undoubtedly thrilling with nervousness. As was she--and for different reasons. With one cracked-open, dark eye she'd watched him, and then gone to drink, to eat, to awaken, and ever with Omen circling overhead. But always in her mind, the bones' warning lingered.

The Bonebound, coming together, only to shatter once more. A death, perhaps, or something similar. Aure, driven away. A triumph, yes--and his return, joyous. But stagnancy. Was that stagnancy together, or apart? Would the Bonebound break away and remain scattered, or would they come together again, bound tightly and everlasting?

She shook the lingering thoughts away. There was another world--one of dreams, of nightmares and omens, a world where the dead lived. A realm where, when one fought wars in their sleep, they fought for the dead; when one had visions, they were sights granted by spirits long-passed. She tried, always, to show them the utmost respect. They were deserving of this respect. She cared for their bones, and she thanked them for their aid. She thought of them, prayed for them--not to any particular deity, but in the way of murmured well-wishings in the bone-scented darkness.

And thus far, they had never steered her wrong, those inhabitants of this other-world, those linked to the bones of the fallen. They watched, she felt--sombre, though still individual--as the world of the living continued to march on, confusedly chaotic, blood-spattered and violently alive. And so this omen troubled her greatly.

She did not want to see Aure suffer, and she did not want the Bonebound to fall. But this was what would be--the reformation, at least--and she was not about to stop him. He was the Bone King, whether he accepted the title, or not--and she would remain by his side, the side of her son, of her new King, for as long as he would have her.

Quiet, sombre in her hidden knowledge, she followed to the pinnacle. And there she sat--not atop it, as he was, but off to one side nonetheless, so that she, too, could face those who approached. In her mind she was his right hand--not one of those who might gather; and so she sat and she waited, peering out over the bones.

"I'm here," she called up simply, voice hoarsely masculine. And then, with Aure, she waited. From high overhead, Omen's haunting cry echoed through the bones.

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ROLL THE BONES

Giggle listened, looking quietly from Aure back out over those few who had gathered. There aren't many, she thought grimly, and with a little surprise. She wasn't sure what she'd expected--somehow, perhaps, she'd thought numbers exactly equal to the old Bonebound would turn up. But there was Skeena, grooming herself near the loud gull; and there was Eythan, mouthing something she couldn't quite make out to Aure.

Good.

She wasn't sure where Vinea was--nor Bones; and she knew full well that Serek counted himself, for now at least, among those in Cetus. But here... Here they had at least a semblance of a family.

She felt, of all things, faint hope rise in her--hope for all their futures, for the first time in... forever. And with it came dread. Dread that her hope was unfounded, that she would believe, only to have disaster strike and her dreams dashed on the rocks below.

Giggle wondered if she should give a speech, herself--of the Bonebound, or anything like it. No, she realized, almost at once. I must set an example.

So she stood, turning half toward Aure, and raising her voice so that it could be heard, as masculinely rasping as it was. "I will be Bound," she began, echoing Aure's words, "bound by bone, bound to protect all of you, and to provide aid, where needed. Together, may we survive."

Her voice, at this last, raised into a hoarse, firm shout--and then she lowered herself back to her haunches, lifting her head to look imperiously over those below.

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ROLL THE BONES