As the final shovelful of dirt was thrown on the king and the bells tolled again and again, the crowd rearranged itself: rows of people stretched as far as Thor could see, winding their way along the cliff, each holding a single black rose, lining up to pass the fresh mound of dirt that marked the king’s grave. Thor stepped forward, knelt down, and placed his rose on the already growing pile. Krohn whined.
As the crowd began to disperse, people milling about in every direction, Thor noticed Gwendolyn break free from Reece’s grip and run, hysterical, away from the grave.
“Gwen!” Reece called out after her.
But she was inconsolable. She cut through the thick mob and ran down a dirt trail along the cliff’s edge. Thor could not stand to see her like that; he had to try to speak with her.
Thor burst through the crowd himself, Krohn at his heels, weaving this way and that through the thickening crowd, trying to follow her trail and catch up with her. Finally, he broke free from the outskirts and spotted her running, far away from the others.