Late morning faded into the afternoon; the clouds dismal and grey as if to match the mood of the people in the circus below them. The screams, too, had faded and were replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional cry of the wounded and dying and the sounds of the wind howling miserably through the broken tents. The fires had been mostly put out now and the little ones that remained were flickering out on their own.

Walking through the ruins, her face devoid of all emotion, was a girl. She was bareheaded and barefoot and would have looked quite at home in such surroundings, judging by the state of the rags she wore, if it were not for the blood that covered them. Her hands she had scrubbed clean but the rest of the signs of what had happened wouldn't be so easily washed away. She tried to tell herself to take comfort in the lives she had managed to save and the people she had helped escape, but too many still died in front of her and she had been powerless to do anything to help them.

It had all happened so fast -- and yet it seemed to drag on for years.

"I wonder if the circus will ever recover from this," she heard a worker murmur to another as she passed them by, and if she had had any room left to feel any sort of emotion at all other than grief, she would have been angry at them. Did it matter? Besides, if anyone could recover from something like this it would be the Master.

The Master.

There, that was a name that could draw a different emotion from her: hatred. She curled her lip at the very thought of him and continued on her way, weaving through the wreckage towards the main tent -- or what was left of it. Right now she just wanted to find her friends.

She saw Crow first. He was sitting on the ground, entirely heedless of the people walking around him, and he was bent over something. Rocking. It was only then that she saw the body he held limp in his arms -- blackened with ash as he was, she hadn't recognized Snow right away.

"Crow." It was the only word she said as she stepped forward, stopping a few paces in front of them. She didn't kneel down. She didn't want to see, nor accept the truth of what lay before her eyes.

He lifted his face to her, still rocking back and forth. Tears streamed down his face unchecked, yet he smiled. "It's all right, La," he said. His voice was calm -- too calm. "He's only sleeping. He'll wake up, soon."

"Crow..."

"No, La. No." Now his tone was more insistent, almost angry. "Don't say my name that way. I don't need your pity; not anyone's! Don't you see? He'll wake up. He will. He has to."

Every bit of her was screaming to run away from this nightmare, to wake up and realize none of it had ever really happened, but instead, she forced herself forward. As she knelt down at last, Crow slowly moved his arms away from shielding his brother's face so she could see.

"I couldn't let the sun hurt his skin," he said, quietly now. "I have to protect him."

"I know," she said softly. But her eyes were on Snow. He looked almost as if he could have been sleeping but for the blood that covered his face and when she touched his cheek, ever so gently, he was quite cold.

"La?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me it's going to be okay."

She couldn't resist the desperation in his voice. "It's going to be okay."

No, it isn't.

But he smiled nonetheless. "Thank you."

She nodded. Unable to bear the sight any longer, La rose to her feet. "I'm going to get the Master. He should see this." Her hatred for him was dulled at that moment -- everything was. When she looked around at the smoking tents and the bodies, she no longer felt the same sadness -- at least, not for them. Only an aching numbness deep inside her soul mingled with a deeper sorrow than she had ever imagined possible.

It wasn't until she walked away that she realized she was crying, too.

----------

Crow had no idea how long La was gone, nor did he care. The world outside of him had ceased to exist and he cared only for the body he held cradled in his arms. He tried to wipe the blood from his brother's face but it had dried and when he reached to pull Snow's arm over to rest on his pale chest, he found that the limb had stiffened considerably and let it lie where it was before.

"He's only asleep," he whispered, but reality was starting to force its way through the fog in his mind.

Snow was dead. And he knew it. He'd known it all along but he'd refused to admit to himself and now that he finally acknowledged what was true, the pain was akin to being stabbed in the heart, over and over until he would've done anything to make it stop.

Lost to his grief, Crow leaned his head in towards his brother and, with his arms wrapped tightly around Snow, began to openly weep.

Dead.

The vultures had come to the circus, drawn to it by the scent of the deceased. They were mocking him.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Crow lifted his head and would have screamed at them to be silent, but he saw in front of him a figure that made him stop short before he had even opened his mouth. The Master had come, and he didn't come alone. La was there, standing back and watching with red eyes, and the Master's Voodoo servant, Ebeneezer, had come as well. If Crow had been in his right mind he would have questioned the presence of the third man but he was not and the only thing he was thinking was that they had come to take Snow away from him.

He couldn't let that happen.

"Stay away," he hissed. "You can't have him."

"He's dead, Crow." The calmness in the Master's voice infuriated him and for a moment, Crow forgot that he had ever come to terms with the truth.

"No."

"He is."

"No."

The Master approached and knelt down where La had been before, though Crow had been relieved to see La and now he felt only hostility. "He is dead," said the Master again, yet went on before Crow had a chance to interject again. "He is dead, but he doesn't have to be."

"You can't do that!" La spoke up, her voice shrill, and Crow saw for the first time a flicker of irritation in the Master's face. But he didn't understand. What did she know that he wasn't being told?

"Get her out of here -- I don't want to see this caravan filth in my sight again. Crow, pick up the boy. Follow me to my tent -- it's still standing, fortunately."

With dull eyes, Crow watched as La was forcibly dragged away. Why? But he had no energy to ask, nor to protest in her defense. Even so, even in his fragile state of mind, Crow couldn't miss the horrified look she gave him; a brief exchange of glances before she disappeared around a broken tent and was out of sight.

"Pick him up." The Master's voice was more commanding this time. Crow didn't want to look down at the body in his arms and he didn't want to see the lifelessness in the bloodied face of his brother, but this wasn't the sort of tone to be disobeyed. So he did as he was told and lifted the body up. Snow was stiffer now but still light as a feather. With a swift motion, the Master removed his cloak and concealed the body beneath it, and when Crow made to open his mouth and ask why, the Master lifted a finger to his lips so he made no sound.

As they walked through the maze of destruction, everyone moved out of the way as soon as they saw the Master coming through. Silence still hovered over the circus but low whispers could be heard as they passed by; a strange and solemn procession bearing an even stranger burden with them. A body, that was clear enough. But of whom? And why, among so many other bodies, was this one so important to the Master himself?

Any brave soul who might have asked, though, was silenced immediately by the presence of Ebeneezer and they turned back to their work almost as quickly as they had turned away from it. As much as they all feared the Master, superstition ran rampant in the circus and they feared the Dark Arts even more.

In time, the group entered an area of the circus that was scarcely damaged at all. The Wyvern had gone for the areas with the most people, so the tents belonging to the workers -- which were mostly empty during showtimes --held no appeal for the beast. It was in the greatest of these tents that the group entered and with gentle hands, Crow lay his brother down on the couch within.

"Good," said the Master. "Now leave."

"Tell me what you're doing to him first."

The Master whirled to face him, anger flaring his face and for a moment it looked as if he would strike Crow. But then he relaxed and looked at Crow with something that was almost pity.

"Poor Crow," he said. "You've lost your brother. Wouldn't you like him back, safe and sound and just as alive and well as he was yesterday?"

"He's dead," Crow said numbly. His eyes drifted back to where Snow was lying on the couch.

"I told you earlier, he doesn't have to be."

At last, Crow began to understand. Why the Master had been so calm. Why La had been so afraid. And, most importantly, why he had brought Ebeneezer with him. It all came together in one horrible word; a word Crow whispered under his breath so quietly that the Master could not have heard it if the circus hadn't been so deathly silent.

"Necromancy."

The Master stepped forward. He put his hand on Crow's shoulder and the touch made the young man flinch, but the Master didn't react to it. "Yes, boy," he said. "We'll raise him back from the dead."

Crow closed his eyes. His lips were pulled into a thin line, his face tense. "That's wrong... no... I can't let you do that to my brother."

"To yer brother?" This time the voice was not the silky and charismatic tones of the Master but rather the sound of someone very old -- and very impatient. "Or to yer brother's body? It's not like 'e can feel it, 'e is dead."

"I can't let you..." His voice cracked mid-sentence and he stopped, unable to finish.

"Come, boy. I understand. He is your brother, you want only the best for him -- of course, I understand. If this is what you truly wish, we will honor it for your sake and for his memory and we will let him lie dead, just as he is now. We'll bury him tonight with the others and move on from here and you'll never have to worry about taking care of him again. He'll stay here in the ground with every other victim of this terrible attack and within hours the maggots will chew on his face."

"No."

"Yes, boy. Everything that was ever admired about Snowflake -- his laugh, his talent, his spirit -- it will all be gone. Forever. And when you lie awake at night you will think of him and how you could have let us save him and you'll regret it every moment that you live. It will drive you mad."

For all his terrible words, the Master's voice was gentle and there was no malice in it. His hand was still on Crow's shoulder in a comforting gesture, but everything he said filled Crow's heart with dread and pain, so much that he couldn't bear it anymore and fell to his knees beside the couch. Never once had he looked away from Snow's face, not even though it was crushing him to see Snow like that.

"Please... No."

All he could think of was how badly he wanted to lean over and shake Snow; to tell him to stop playing around and wake up now. This wasn't funny.

"It's your decision, Crow. You have the final say." Further back in the tent, Ebeneezer grunted impatiently. The Master hissed at him to be quiet.

Crow didn't reply. He was thinking of yesterday. He had found La early in the morning and crept off with her to the main tent to see Snow practice, and Snow had found them during his break. They'd spent several minutes talking in whispers and laughing at the silly things Snow would say, or he would imitate something funny that had happened with exaggerated motions and they'd laugh even harder. He was remembering in vivid detail how Snow's eyes would squint a little when he smiled. He was remembering the grace of every movement, even the funny ones, and the sound of his voice -- higher-pitched than his own and smooth, the sort of voice one enjoyed to listen to.

How long until those vivid details faded into vague memories?

At long last, Crow bowed his head and nodded. "Do it. Do whatever you gotta do but bring him back, please."

Behind him, the Master nodded his approval. "Good boy. Now leave."

"But--"

"Leave."

And he did.